


Waiting On A Friend

by CamilleCM



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Ship Tease, pre-mondler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19225366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleCM/pseuds/CamilleCM
Summary: "You're one of my favorite people and the most beautiful woman I've ever known in real life."Love is friendship set on fire — A collection of pre-Mondler friendship stories, set from 1987 up to London.





	1. Scrabble Night

"Coming!"

Chandler hurried when he heard knocking on the door. He quickly pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, and flattened his hair to make it less disheveled. It was Friday night, there always was an electric energy in the dorms on Friday nights, the prospect of an epic party constantly looming. Maybe it could even be Gandalf. No one, much less Chandler, wanted to miss out on such an opportunity to avoid another weekend night spent watching TV and reading comics.

He opened the door, only to be left disappointed by the sight of Monica.

"Oh, it's you," he said in a deflated tone.

"I'm here to see Ross," she frowned. They had gotten over the toe cutting incident from the year before―by never talking about it again, but it was still tense and awkward at times between them whenever she visited Ross at NYU.

Monica nudged him, and entered the dorm room Chandler shared with her brother; in her hand a bag of cookies resulting from her baking class of the day. She put it on Ross's desk, and couldn't help but pick up a few items of clothing spread on the floor.

Chandler sighed. It was no good trying to fight her about that. "Please, just make yourself comfortable," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

A few minutes later, Ross came in with his girlfriend, Carol. The four of them chatted for a while about their classes, Ross and Carol snuggled together in his bed. Monica sat on his desk chair, reluctant to get on Chandler's messy, undone bed where he was lying, with his hands over his head.

"Shall we go out to some bars?" he proposed when the conversation steered towards their plans for the night.

Monica furrowed her eyebrows, visibly upset. "That's unfair. You know I'm not old enough to get into bars."

"It's fine, I'll get you a fake ID," Chandler said with a shrug.

Monica gaped at him. "What? No. I'm not some kind of ...  _drifter_ ," she stammered, outraged by his solution.

"Relax, it's just a fake ID. Everybody does it, even Ross."

The guys smiled at the memory. It was probably the most stressful thing Chandler's ever done, but he wanted to appear casual about it around his friends. It was a rare cool story to tell.

"Well, I'm not Ross and I don't want to commit a felony."

Chandler inhaled, growing annoyed by her obsession with following rules. Dealing with one stubborn Geller during the week was hard enough. "Monica, it's Friday night. You expect me to stay inside?"

"Oh yeah, because you got  _hot dates_  every Friday night," she retorted with a smirk and Chandler felt a blush creeping across his face. She didn't even know him that well and already pinpointed a sore spot. Was it so obvious his life was empty?

"Noooo," he wobbled. "But I could .. get a  _hot date_. And I sure won't get any if I stay here!"

Chandler dared to fix his eyes on her, as if to challenge her. Unsurprisingly, Monica didn't flinch and held his gaze, daring him to defy her.

"Actually, I don't feel like going out," Carol interjected, breaking the growing tension. She yawned and turned to Ross. "We could stay here and play some games."

"How about Scrabble?" Ross suggested enthusiastically.

Chandler rolled his eyes at the couple, there was little chance in the first place he wouldn't get pushed over by the two Geller siblings, but Ross only needed Carol to bat her eyes at him and he would be on board with her wildest offer. Or the dullest one, in this case.

Outnumbered, he resigned himself as he picked up the Scrabble box. They sat on the floor in the middle of the room, Ross naturally siding with Carol.

"So you picked this game just to win," Chandler remarked.

Monica nodded in agreement and turned to Chandler, "Ross won't pick any kind of game that involves physical prowess, he knows I would destroy him," she said with a pleased grin.

Ross mimicked her words until Carol gently scolded him. "Let's see how well you two do against a paleontologist and a lit major. No offense, guys," he teased.

Monica leaned to Chandler and whispered to his ear, "He's playing mind games, don't let him intimidate you." She squeezed his shoulder and he smiled. Chandler guessed if he had to pick between playing against her or with her, it was for the best to be on her team.

Two hours later, he ended up rejoicing and thrilled. He and Monica were crushing their opponents. Chandler was rivaling Ross by coming up with equally impressive words, despite Ross initially gloating about his vast knowledge of scientific words. In fact, Chandler showcased his talent and (hidden) love of words, including a mastery of the two-letter ones, while Monica held herself as well. The long nights of word puzzles and Pyramid marathons were paying off.

A fatal combination of "Qi" and "Jujutsu" was the decisive blow to beat the couple. Monica shrieked, with a smug grin plastered on her face directed specifically at Ross, who was fuming while his girlfriend was indifferent to the outcome of the game.

Monica high-fived Chandler and hugged him in her euphoria.

Chandler was pleasantly startled. He loved beating Ross for once, he enjoyed himself and enjoyed seeing Monica lighten up like that. He couldn't deny her energy was addictive.

Friday nights in a dorm room weren't so bad after all.


	2. Black Eye

Monica was sitting on the couch, reading a book with a glass of wine. She could finally relax after spending most of the evening cleaning the apartment. All was well again, Chandler had reconciled with Joey over him kissing one of the Tribbiani sisters, although she still didn't know which one he kissed.

Ross seemed to come to his senses and be happy about Rachel's new job, and Phoebe, well, she would get over the guy who lived upstairs and cheated on her. She was strong and always got over dates faster than any of them, except Joey, but he didn't find himself in that predicament often.

Alone time in the apartment used to be so rare, but ever since Rachel and Ross started dating, it was more frequent. Monica liked it that way, she really didn't want to imagine what her brother and best friend were doing in Rachel's room, and there was only so much of Ross she could handle.

Of course, that alone time was wallowing time to get over Richard, but she felt she was out of the woods. Now, she was genuinely enjoying the quiet and peace of late nights―doing the dishes to feel the soothing warm water on her hands and the gentle tickle of the tiny bubbles, the long uninterrupted baths, listening to music or simply reading a book with a glass of wine.

But her apartment was never empty for too long.

She refilled her glass when Chandler entered the apartment, wearing sweats and a t-shirt and his eye still blue-red from his trip to the Tribbiani household.

"My eye is still swollen. Do you have ice?" he asked as he went to the fridge.

She stood up and joined him in the kitchen. "You don't even have ice now?"

"Joey had this idea to make an ice sculpture … in the bathtub …" Chandler shook his head. "It seemed fun at the time," he said defensively.

He opened the fridge and inspected the icemaker. "So where is everybody?" he asked.

Monica nudged him from the fridge and grabbed a bag of peas. "Works better than ice," she pointed out when Chandler shot her a questioning look. "Rachel is spending the night with Ross. Phoebe went home, she can't stand hearing Mr. Charming anymore over there," she said, pointing upwards. "What about Joey?"

"Date night," he answered quickly.

She directed him to one of the chairs. "Sit and don't move."

Monica applied the bag of peas on the puffy, discolored area of his eye.

"You know, I always had this nurse fantasy ... but not like this, and not after a girl punched me," he moaned.

"Get over it, Chandler. She was pretty strong. Even  _I_  wouldn't take her."

"Monica Geller admitting weakness, interesting," teased Chandler. "Wait .. Where is my friend and what did you do to her?" he said in mock shock, Monica frowned and whacked him on the chest.

"I might not take her, but I can definitely take you. Sit still, unless you want to have two black eyes."

"The lesson today seems to be, don't piss off women who are stronger than you," he said, narrowing his eyes. "This is turning out to be quite an  _eye_ -opening experience." He pursed his lips and smirked.

Monica rolled her eyes at him and smiled. "Terrible puns and Joey isn't mad at you anymore, it feels like normal again."

"Yes, and I'm no longer having jello shots ever again."

Monica offered a sympathetic nod, and focused her gaze back on his eye, pressing the bag of peas carefully. Suddenly, she noticed Chandler's eyebrows raising as he bit his lip. "What?"

"So, how was our kiss?" he asked, with a lopsided grin. "How would you rate it?" He added before she could react.

"What? No! I'm not doing that!"

"Oh come on, do you know how mad I am at myself that I can't remember it?"

Monica stopped treating his eye and backed up.

"It was a drunk, inappropriate kiss and you were completely wasted. I'd rather not talk about it," she said with a straight face.

"Was it that bad, huh?"

She ducked her head at his typical self-deprecating tone. "No … It wasn't―Well, maybe less tongue next time."

"Duly noted," he said with a wink.

"But there won't be a  _next time_ ," she corrected. "I'm not letting you get drunk at parties again. You were out of control, I didn't recognize you."

"Oh please. You're one to talk. Have you seen yourself when you get drunk? You become a whole different person."

Her mouth gaped at him. "I  _never_  get drunk."

Chandler crossed his arms, expectantly looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe a few times," she admitted meekly.

"And you act just as crazy as I did."

"Oh no, I don't go around kissing people."

"Imagine what would happen if we both get drunk at the same time? I would be overly-friendly, you would find me attractive …" Chandler said in a suggestive tone.

Monica's face scrunched up. "Oh God. Let's make a pact and stay away from each other if we ever get sad and drunk together."

"Deal."

Chandler smiled and a moment of silence followed as Monica finished up and wiped the dampness from his face. In reality, he felt his eye numb up a while ago, but he didn't mind.

"There you go, you're all patched up. It will disappear on its own, and until then, you can make up a manly story to tell that Xerox girl you guys drool over," she sneered.

"Thanks, Mon," he said as he got up. "You know you'd make a great nurse."

She pointed her finger at him. "Don't even try to picture it."

He grinned and went to the counter. Monica noticed his smile slowly fading and sadness clouding his face. She could see it, even through his damaged eye. She would see it in anyone, that distinctive kind of hurt.

She walked over to him, standing hesitantly. She wanted to comfort him and tell him everything would be okay, even if she didn't know that it was true. It was what he always told her in a reverse scenario, and when he did, she always believed him.

"Chandler, it will get easier … you know, about Janice. Trust me. It's ok to act a little crazy, I think, and it will suck for a while, but you'll be fine."

Chandler looked up at her, surprised for a moment by her discernment. A smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, I just want to get to that 'fine' stage faster, you know?"

"I know."

"You're gonna be fine too," he said sheepishly, slowly opening the door. Monica nodded with a knowing smile as she walked him by the door.

"Goodnight, Chandler," she said softly, patting his shoulder.

He lifted his hand, and she smacked it in a high five. "Goodnight, Mon. See you tomorrow."

Monica went back to the couch, closing her book. She smiled at the fact few words always sufficed to express the mutual understanding and affection between them. Heartbreak wouldn't last forever and life went on. They would both get there and in the meantime, they would be there for each other.


	3. Quick, Draw

"Argh!"

Monica scrunched up the sheet of paper from the pad and threw it at Rachel. "How could you not guess that?" she added as her roommate threw her hands to protect her face.

"Monica, that's strike two! Another outburst and you're out," Ross warned, acting as the game's referee and taking it as seriously as everyone expected.

"Come on, that's the beauty of the game. We're just having fun," Monica said defensively, as she looked at her friends for confirmation. Rachel averted her eyes while Joey and Chandler snickered.

"Mon, your eyes are wider and more terrifying than Jack Nicholson in The Shining," Chandler said.

"Not my fault you're such a wuss. Come on Ross, let's play," she said, turning to her brother, and jumping up and down on one foot then the other like a boxer warming up before stepping in the ring.

"I'm scared of her," Joey whispered.

"Two strikes, Monica," Ross reminded her.

She rolled her eyes at him and found her friends staring at her impatiently. "Fine," she said, going back to the couch and sitting beside her teammate.

"You're doing the crazy eyes things again," Rachel said after studying her.

"My eyes are fine. Maybe  _you_ need your eyes checked, seriously. That was so obviously a cow!"

Chandler let out an exasperated sigh, and discreetly said to Joey, "I wish David broke up with me."

Phoebe had stayed at her grandmother's, wanting to be alone after breaking up with David the night before. Monica's New Year's Eve party deflated the group's morale. They were plopped down in the living room, feeling dejected and bored on the first day of the year until Joey suggested a game of Pictionary. It wasn't received with much enthusiasm but no one had a better idea to counteract. It wasn't the first time Joey got his way in this manner, and Chandler suspected it wouldn't be the last.

It was the guys' turn to play. Joey went up and picked out a word. "Celebrity," Ross announced as he set the kitchen timer.

Joey started drawing, looking at his roommate expectantly. Chandler just shook his head, hardly recognizing the doodle. The more Joey elaborated on the drawing, the more indecipherable it became. Eventually, the timer went off and Chandler didn't have an answer.

"John Travolta!" Joey exclaimed, pointing to the board with his marker.

"That's a Dadaesque interpretation I'm guessing," Chandler deadpanned, causing Joey to frown.

"That's not my dad," he responded. Ross stared at him in disbelief and Chandler shook his head. Meanwhile, the girls were rejoicing.

"It looks just like him, Joey," Rachel said.

"Thank you, Rache."

"That's his famous haircut," she added. "Oh yeah I see it now, what's that? His elbow?"

Chandler squinted his eyes. "I really hope that's his elbow."

A few more rounds later, it was the crucial tie. The guys were leading after winning their last turn and the girls needed a point in order to avoid a loss. Monica started to draw what looked like an obscure pattern of circles to Rachel. Monica got more and more frantic as time was running out. When the 'ding' sound from the timer resounded in the living room, her mouth gaped at her roommate. Joey jumped in celebration of their win, and Chandler followed, starting to dance goofily.

"Uh oh," Rachel said as she caught the anger boiling up in her roommate's face. The boys were cheering extravagantly and Monica's eyes closed shut, her fists clenching so much her knuckles turned white. Chandler looked up at her when he realized she was unusually quiet. The next thing he knew, a round, flat white object was heading towards him at full speed. Caught off guard, he froze and the plate hit him in the head, making him fall down.

When he achingly opened his eyes, he was met with the worried faces of his friends towering over him. The boys were shaking him gently and Rachel was assisting Monica as she applied a cloth on his forehead.

"What happened?" he asked, blinking hard to regain full consciousness.

"Monica threw a plate at you and knocked you over," answered Joey.

"I didn't throw it, it slipped from my hand …"

"The plate was on the table, Monica," Rachel remarked.

Chandler groaned with agony as he picked himself up, his hand went to the source of his pain and he noticed blood dripping over it.

"You threw a plate at me cause you lost?" he said with a tightness in his voice.

"I―I... It just slipped from me," Monica stammered.

Chandler couldn't believe it. Her competitiveness was more often than not a source of amusement for him, playing casually most games for pleasure himself. It was even endearing at times, which was an opinion he never voiced out loud since no one else shared it in the group. This was crossing the line however, he never considered that blinding urge and desire to win would result in bodily harm to someone. Least of all himself.

"We're taking you to the hospital," Monica said.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Let me help you," she said, her voice more firm.

"Leave me alone," he replied, as he stood up and grabbed the cloth from her hand.

"Stop being such a macho man."

"Monica!" he said through gritted teeth. "I don't think you're in any position to question my virility right now."

"You might need stitches," she responded in a lower voice.

Chandler exhaled heavily, in an attempt to calm down his anger. Fortunately, Ross broke the increasing hostility, "If we're going to the hospital, someone has to stay with Marcel."

"I'm late for my shift," Rachel chimed in.

Monica and Joey accompanied Chandler to the hospital while Ross stayed with Marcel and Rachel went to work. The tension was high in the cab ride, Monica and Chandler didn't say a word to each other despite Joey's attempts at starting many subjects of discussion, which consisted of ignored requests about making a stop-gap by a sandwich shop.

After a while in the waiting room, Chandler went into the ER. A doctor examined him and closed the cut on his forehead with a couple of stitches then applied a bandage. He was told to wait before getting discharged. A couple of minutes later, Monica came into the room, looking visibly guilty.

"Chandler, are you feeling better? I'm really, really sorry."

"This is the second time, you know," he said dryly.

Monica stopped in her steps, her face freezing and her body going stiff. "What?"

"The second time I end up in a hospital because of you. Do you not remember that?"

"I'm really sorry and I feel guilty."

He let out a sarcastic bursting cackle. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better!"

"Chandler," she said, his name sounding like an apology.

"I have a question," he cut her off. "Do you want me dead?"

Her eyes narrowed and she blinked at him confused. "Huh?"

"Do you want to kill me? Get rid of me?"

"It was an accident!"

"Yes. Like cutting my toe. Now, if I was a detective I would say, the frequency of this particular occurrence where you damage one part of my body is becoming highly suspect."

"Chandler!" She implored.

"I'm just saying. If you want to get rid of me, maybe I could help with that."

As Chandler said those words, in his typical acerbic tone, he noticed Monica's features softening and uncharacteristic hurt crossing her face. "I would never try to get rid of―"

This time, it was Dr. Campbell's entrance that interrupted her, a grey-haired man in his fifties. He took the notepad from the end of the bed, reading the notes on it. "Chandler M. Bing, everything looks fine. Superficial cut, no concussion. Come back in a week to get the stitches removed. You can go home."

"Thank you, doctor."

The doctor looked up from the notes and quickly studied both of them. "I usually have to say this to people much younger than you are but please, don't throw objects at each other."

Chandler dramatically coughed and Monica rolled her eyes at him.

Dr. Campbell was about to leave the room when he turned again to them. "And for the love of God, stop playing Pictionary. That's the devil's game." He rolled up one of his coat sleeves. "See this? That's my wife's work."

Chandler couldn't help a laugh and felt himself relax for the first time since the incident. He looked over at Monica, who was politely smiling.

Dr. Campbell turned his attention to Chandler. "Son, If you win at any game, send her flowers the next day. Trust me, I've been married 20 years," he said, pointing to his wedding ring.

Monica stammered in wide-eyed shock. "Oh no, we're not―"

"All right, my work here is done. Happy New Year."

The doctor left the room and a short awkward silence followed. Chandler got up to reach for his jacket. Monica got there first, and he smiled appreciatively as she helped him get into it.

Truthfully, Chandler was never one to hold grudges, and he hated to admit it, even less so with Monica.

"Chandler _M._  Bing. What does the M stand for?" she asked.

"The M is for  _Mind your own business_. Chandler  _MindYourOwnBusinessMonica_  Bing."

"Whatever. You know I'll find out eventually."

"Of course you will, you're Satan's minion sent from hell to torture me," he teased with a grin and her lips turned into a knowing smirk.

Monica smoothed his jacket, her hand squeezing his arm reassuringly. "I'm sorry Chandler, I don't want you dead," she said softly before pausing, "I just really, really hate your stupid gloating dance."

Chandler shook his head and laughed. "Next time I win, I'll be more graceful and remember to duck."

She narrowed his eyes at his delighted expression. "Next time you win?"

"Hypothetically ... in my dreams."

Monica grinned, giving him a smug nod. He opened the door for her, breathing a sigh of relief. "You'll be getting flowers in the morning."


	4. Amuse Bouche

She thought this was  _it_.

It all seemed so unfair to Monica. She made sure everything would go exactly according to plan, but didn't expect that the same guy who could offer her the big break of her career would be the one to actually derail her plans.

It was unfair you couldn't control these things.

She went to the movies afterward with her friends and appreciated their comforting words. But they didn't get it. They couldn't get it nor understand just how hard it was to become the head chef of a New York restaurant. How many 16 hours-a-day weeks it required, and how much it would have meant to finally make it.

But Monica knew better than to complain. For starters, she wasn't one to pity herself, and her friends weren't to blame. It wasn't their fault they weren't as obsessed with their jobs as she was or that they enjoyed other things than work―they had other priorities and their own struggles too. Rachel was building a new life from the ground up while Phoebe and Joey simply enjoyed living in the moment and embraced uncertainty. She envied that on days like these, where hard work didn't seem to lead anywhere. Ross worked hard and it always paid off. That's how it was supposed to be, what their parents had taught them.

And then, there was Chandler. As with many things, he was a mystery. Who would quit after getting a big promotion? Only Chandler, she smiled to herself. Life was a little cruel to him too. Being good at something you hate was probably just as unfulfilling and frustrating as her current situation.

Coincidently, he entered the apartment, his tie loosened and the sleeves lazily rolled up. From the couch, she couldn't help but notice and seethe inwardly at the sight of his shirt bottoms done up in the wrong holes.

"Hey," he called out on his way to the fridge.

"Oh hey. I heard about your promotion, you said yes. Congratulations."

"Thanks," he said, taking a beer from the fridge and walking towards the couch. "Phoebe told me about the stoned restaurant guy. I'm sorry."

She didn't answer and simply nodded appreciatively.

"Are you ok?" he asked, pointing to the almost empty Ben and Jerry's bowl of ice cream on the table.

"I'm wallowing," she answered then shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"What is it?"

She switched off the television and turned to him with a deep sigh. "Chandler, did I fool myself thinking I was good at this? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I blew it."

"You didn't blow it. He did. Literally."

"I'm serious. It's been years and I've worked so hard. I don't even know if I will ever have another chance like that."

Chandler slumped his shoulders, a look of empathy on his face. He went over to sit by her side on the couch, putting down his beer on the table. "Oh come on Mon, you're a great chef."

"Yeah, that's what Ross said." She frowned down. "I feel like a fraud," she said in a small voice.

"Don't say that. We love your food, everybody loves your food. Granted, Joey could eat books if he could, and I don't have the most refined palate but I…I don't know what I would do without your food," he said quietly, his eyes softening.

Monica couldn't prevent her lips quirking up, and very gently replied, "Thank you."

He opened his arms invitingly, and she leaned down to wrap him into a tight hug.

"This will happen for you one day," he said at the end of the embrace.

"I've never been good at waiting."

"I know, you're a doer, but maybe you have to learn that sometimes you have no choice. You have to wait for the next thing, even if you don't know when and what it will be."

"Surprisingly wise words, Bing," she said around a small laugh.

"Hey, I'm a big shot now," he joked.

"Speaking of which, shouldn't you be out celebrating your promotion?"

"I really don't want to. I was in the office until eleven, and I realized this promotion is my worst nightmare."

Monica blinked in confusion at him for a beat and then smiled patiently. "Why did you accept?"

Chandler tilted his head. "You know why."

"I don't, actually. But I mean, it's great. I heard you have an office and an assistant, that's pretty amazing. You should be proud."

"Yeah well, I don't have a lot going for me. A stable, good-paying job is better than no job at all."

"Chandler," she said his name in a gentle scolding tone.

" _Monica_."

They both smiled knowingly, then fell quiet.

"I wish I had a job as cool as yours," Chandler suddenly blurted out.

"My job isn't cool."

"There's no dedicated page on the New Yorker reviewing data processors! One day, you'll be a famous chef, and you'll get rave reviews from prestigious newspapers. That's pretty cool."

She sighed dreamily. "It is kinda cool," she admitted.

"You know Ross never questioned why I took this job in the first place. He told me it was good to stick with what I'm good at."

"That does sound like Ross."

"But I know you don't approve of it."

She took a deep breath, avoiding his stare, "We all want you to do what makes you happy."

Chandler reached for his beer and took a sip out of it, plopping down on the couch. "I feel like a coward, but even if I was brave enough to quit once and for all, I'm not sure I would be good at anything else."

"Hey, stop that." Monica lifted his chin, staring at him with a determined look. "There are plenty of things you would be good at. I mean, you're smart and you're funny  _occasionally_."

He smirked at her teasing tone. "Doesn't help much in the job market apparently."

"Chandler, you're good at a job you don't like, you don't even have to put in that much effort to get a promotion," she explained earnestly. "Can't you see what that says about your potential?"

He blinked up, almost surprised. He ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding her eyes but Monica caught a flush of color in his face.

"Thanks, Mon."

She nodded and pointed the remote control to turn on the television. "Let's watch TV."

"Do you still have some of that amuse-bouche left?" he asked, biting back a laugh.

They watched TV for a while until Chandler realized she had fallen asleep, her head buried in his chest. He gently disentangled from her and pulled a blanket to cover her. Monica settled and lay horizontally on the couch. Her eyes still closed, she mumbled under her breath, "Chandler, someday you'll find something you will love  _so_  much ..." Her voice trailed.

She smiled when she felt a kiss on her forehead,  _'good night, Mon'_  the last words she heard before drifting off.


	5. Night Fever

A sound from the kitchen made her whirl in her sleep.

Monica awoke to the sound of clattering dishes and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. She sat up and smiled when she heard someone whistling.

She reached for her robe and opened the door of her bedroom to find Chandler in the kitchen, walking towards her with a breakfast tray, with pancakes and what she guessed was decaffeinated coffee.

"Good morning," she said, almost making him trip.

"I was going to surprise you," Chandler replied with a smile, putting the tray down on the table. "I figured you would be hungry after all that throwing up all night," he added, grimacing at the memory.

"I'm always hungry now," Monica sighed, sitting at the kitchen table.

She drank from the orange juice glass, while Chandler stared at her longingly. She rolled her eyes at him when she looked up. "I'm doing fine, Chandler."

"Let's just call the doctor and check with him about the morning sickness, maybe there's something that can be done?"

"You worry too much."

Chandler turned and kneeled beside her. "Of course, I worry," he said softly, tucking short strands of hair behind her ear.

"Your dad is a paranoid freak," she teased, looking down at Chandler caressing her belly with his hand.

"If worrying about my four-months-pregnant wife makes me a freak, then I don't want to be a normal, well-adjusted person," he said defensively, making her laugh.

He looked up and gazed lovingly at her, Monica found herself lost in the moment until she heard cries and screams emanating from the other bedroom.

" _And_  the rugrat is up. I have a feeling your brother is going to be cranky today," Chandler said, still talking to Monica's pregnant belly. "Finish breakfast, I'll take care of it," he added, kissing her tenderly on the lips.

Chandler disappeared inside the bedroom After a while, the crying and screaming subsided. She stood up and walked towards it, the door was slightly open, and she could see Chandler looking over the crib, signing a soft lullaby.

She'd never felt more content, more happy and lucky than she did at that moment, basking at the sight of her family, with one hand resting lightly on her belly.

She quietly joined him and slid her hands around his waist, looking down on the baby. Chandler smiled and kissed her hair. "Hi Joey, look, Mommy is here!"

The sight of a full-blown adult Joey as her baby made her gasp and forced Monica to wake up in cold sweat. She felt her breath short and her heart racing.

She struggled to situate herself for a moment. The blinds were closed and she was still in her pajamas with many layers of blankets in her bed. She looked at the bedside table, full of kleenexes and medicine; reminding her she was, in fact, still coming down with a cold from the day before. Her hand went to her forehead, satisfied to find her fever almost gone.

Still puzzled by the strange dream, she smoothed her hair quickly, opened the door and froze when she saw Chandler in the kitchen, with his back to her, seemingly holding a baby.

She blinked a few times. Did she need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't still dreaming?

Chandler turned, with Ben in his arms. "Aunt Monica!" her nephew exclaimed.

"Hey Ben," she answered. "What did you do to be stuck with Uncle Chandler?"

Chandler smirked. "Ross went to the store. Probably spending that hard-earned money from babysitting for his date."

He put down Ben who immediately ran to her.

"Is your cold getting better?" Chandler asked.

She smiled appreciatively. "Yes, much better."

"You went out like a light last night so I carried you to your bed, is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I, uh, slept very well."

"I'm glad," Chandler said, as he went to the fridge to take out a water bottle. "Listen, thanks for letting me sleep on your couch last night and ramble about you know who …" he added, looking down, slightly embarrassed.

"It's no big deal," she replied while sitting Ben down by the couch and bringing him his toys.

Chandler nodded and took a sip from the bottle. Monica studied him, flashes of the dream coming back to her. "Chandler, I―I," she paused, weighing her words. She thought about telling him how normal and right it felt for a second, and how Joey as their kid was the only disturbing, unpleasant element about the dream, but then she remembered last night. He was in love with his best friend's girlfriend, he was in pain, and it wouldn't help anyone to tell him all that. She shook her head. "If you need to talk again."

"I know," Chandler said softly as he joined her by the couch. "Thanks." He ruffled Ben's hair. "All right, children. I gotta go to work before the two love birds wake up and trample on my heart some more!"

Monica patted his shoulder reassuringly before focusing back on Ben.

"Do you want some soup when I come back?" he called out over his shoulder as he made his way to the door.

"Sure. Could you get me a chicken noodle soup with ginger and―"

He cut her off. "Ginger and lemongrass from Raku's."

She nodded and smiled at him.

"All right, enjoy your day. Ah, sick days are the best," he gazed dreamily and Monica laughed as he closed the door behind him.

She sighed. As vivid as the dream felt, it was just that. A dream. She pondered asking Phoebe what its meaning could possibly be, or what Rachel thought it meant, but she knew the consequences would be dire. Her and Chandler would be teased mercilessly by their friends.

Some things were best kept secret.


	6. Red Bikini

"You never had sex on the beach?"

"Noooo."

"You should try it sometime. Maybe  _we_  should."

Chandler rolled his eyes and pushed back in his beach chair, his heels digging deeper into the coarse east coast sand of the Hamptons. He glanced over at Phoebe on his right, who was also wincing at the gooey, beach-themed flirting going on between Monica and her new boyfriend, Jason Hurley.

"I'm going to get a drink," she said, standing up quickly and going to the bar, leaving Chandler pensive. Phoebe was in a foul mood ever since they made it to the beach, which was so unlike her usual cheerful and bright self. She seemed particularly upset around Monica and Jason. At first, he thought it was out of concern. Monica had just broken up with Kip, who moved out of his apartment shortly after.

He and Phoebe both agreed she jumped a little too fast into a new relationship. Jason was too bland for Monica, Chandler thought, and he hoped the guy was just a rebound.

Chandler didn't like the beach. He didn't like feeling self-conscious about his body when young, muscular men were parading, he had no interest in swimming (still traumatized by the unflattering speedos of his teenage years) or walking shirtless (damn that third nipple). Even on a more practical level, who could enjoy sand lodged in ungodly places anyway?

He certainly didn't like having to sit through a full weekend around happy couples—Monica and her new boyfriend were somehow rivaling Ross and Carol in that respect. He counted on Phoebe but there was obviously something going on with her, something he decided he was too much of a guy to fully comprehend.

Be that as it may, there was no question New York City in the summer was a living nightmare. So when the Gellers invited Monica, Ross and their friends for a weekend at their newly purchased beach house in the Hamptons, it was too tempting an offer to refuse.

Because, for better or worse, girls in bikinis were Chandler's weakness.

And when the girl in a scarlet red bikini was his best friend's little sister, and one of his friends, that weakness was threatening to turn into a fatal flaw, the deadliest of sins.

He didn't have romantic feelings for her, he wasn't in love. Of that, he was certain. They were friends, completely platonic, most definitely on her side. She never looked at him that way anyway.

This was the resurgence of an ancient crush, the remnants of the infatuation he caught when he saw her in that jaw-dropping, clingy burgundy dress after she lost all the weight.

He was shallow back then, and over the years, he grew to know her, appreciate her as a person, a neighbor and as a friend. That Thanksgiving night was a hard-earned,  _cutting_  lesson.

The rationalization was simple. He couldn't be blamed for his body naturally reacting to her when she was sprawled out on a towel, absorbing the rays, a few feet away from him.

It wasn't him, it was biology.

Especially since this wasn't your average girl. There were plenty of girls in bikinis at this beach. Pretty, cute girls walking up and down the beach, as far as the eye could see.

Monica always stood out in a crowd, her beauty was striking. But Monica Geller in a bikini? It was something special. No, there was no reason to feel guilty about being attracted to  _that._

He closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat dry. It was a thought too dangerous to dwell on, most notably with Ross and Jack Geller under the same roof.

Jason continued with more eye-rolling innuendos until Chandler couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going for a walk," he said, unsure anyone was even paying attention at this point.

He strolled by the shore, scanning his surroundings. Families crowding the beach one last time before school started, teenagers running and racing each other, seagulls screaming above his head. Nothing terribly interesting but enough to blow off some steam.

He strode again towards their camp. Monica was now the only person there, standing to adjust the umbrella. Upon seeing him, she waved and smiled and he quickly joined her.

"Need some help with that?" he asked.

"I can do it."

Chandler shook his head. "I know you can, I'm offering help."

She shrugged her shoulders, scooting over to let him lower the umbrella. He kneeled and suddenly they were face-to-face. Too close for him not to make note of the smooth, flawless complexion, the delicate features, and the dark hair hung in a simple ponytail, allowing a few strands to blow softly around her face.

Maybe offering to help was a bad idea.

She thanked him then lay on her towel, her back exposed to the sun. "Can you put sunscreen on my back, please?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," he tried to say calmly.

It was so typical of Monica to turn down help with things like adjusting a beach umbrella but gladly ask for back-rubs and sunscreen spreading action.

Monica handed him a bottle of sunscreen and straightened her back now facing Chandler. For a few moments, he just stared at the unblemished, golden smooth, freckled skin and wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked.

"Chandler, everything okay?"

He shook the impure thoughts away and quickly flipped open the lid to pour the lotion into his palm. "Yeah, got it."

Chandler took a deep breath to compose himself. This was ridiculous, he thought, wondering why he was making such a big deal out of it as he let his hand glide across her lower back.

It was just as soft as he expected.

Oh yes, he knew why it was a big deal. He didn't like  _like_  her, but he was  _slightly_  attracted to her, and that attraction was inversely proportional to the size of her teeny little sparkling bikini.

_Get it together, dude._

"All finished," he announced, quickly removing his hands from her skin.

"Thank you," she said, sitting up and studying him. "I guess you won't need any if you're keeping that shirt on."

For a second, he imagined her softs hands on his skin and blinked hard to gather himself. "I don't burn anyway."

"Yes, that's what it is," she teased. "It's more prudent. I guess doctors still don't know the effects of sun exposure on extra nipples."

"Hey!" he shouted. "We agreed to never talk about that, miss Telepole Underwear," he shot back, reminding her of the deal they made one drunken night during the tumultuous days of her relationship with Kip. Both sad, depressed and inebriated, they spilled out their most embarrassing secrets before agreeing to never reveal any of them to the rest of the group.

"Fine. I'm sorry, that was a low blow."

There it was again, that horribly uncomfortable feeling of inadequacy and self-consciousness. It would make him sweat on a winter day in Alaska, let alone a beach day with a close, hot female friend.

He decided to change the subject. "Jason is swimming?"

"Yeah," she replied before taking a long pause. "You don't like him, do you?"

"What? I―I … No, he's … cool."

"Phoebe doesn't seem to like him either, Ross hates him and you never talk to him."

"Monica, I had no intention―"

"It's fine. Really, it's ok. You guys hate everyone I date. I've come to accept that."

They shared a look and Chandler stayed silent.

"You all think I have questionable taste in men," she said in a softer voice.

"No," he quickly replied. "We may have thought it but we never said it," he added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ok. I just want to point out that Kip was also your roommate. You picked him too."

"Well, I also have questionable taste in men," Chandler said with a lopsided grin.

She shook her head and smiled.

"Monica, it's not about your taste. We just have high standards for the guys who are lucky to date you."

"You're very sweet, Chandler," she said, and Chandler could see her slightly blushing. He looked up to the horizon and felt her eyes on him.

"Right, I'm going for a swim," she said, almost flustered.

Monica stood up and walked slowly toward the ocean, her hair swinging just free of her shoulders. He felt that ache again, so he clenched his teeth, taking in the long sweep of her back, every curve and every sharp angle.

He looked away and instead focused on the birds flying over him and the crisp blue sky.

Attraction meant nothing. It was under control.

It had to be.

It would be. As long as they stayed on dry land and she didn't enter any Miss America pageants.


	7. Close Enough

Chandler entered the bar and immediately caught sight of Monica. She was, as usual, hogging the pool table. The best spot in the bar, she often claimed, due to the proximity with the counter and the pinball machines. It got to the point that Chris, the manager, had decided to preemptively reserve the spot for them, even on nights when customers flocked the place―no one in their right mind would try and argue with Monica.

It was Friday night and the place was packed. Monica invited Chandler to celebrate her move into her grandmother's apartment upstairs. In addition, she was starting a new job as a line cook at Iridium after graduating right before the summer.

"Where's Ross?" she asked as he reached the pool table. She walked around the table, expertly juggling the pool stick between her hands.

"They're going to be late," he responded, referring to his roommate and his girlfriend, Carol.

Monica winced. "I don't want to know why," she said, making Chandler snort.

He and Ross were about to start their senior year of college and it became a recurrent theme each time Monica and Chandler made plans with Ross and Carol, they'd end up spending a lot of time together since the couple would often be late or reschedule.

The animosity and strangeness of their first encounters had dissipated with time. Instead, there was a free-flowing easiness to their interactions now, and their 'by proxy' relationship blossomed into a genuine friendship.

"I'll get us some beers," Chandler announced.

Monica nodded, keeping her gaze on the balls on the pool table.

Chandler made his way through the crowd as Depeche Mode's Enjoy The Silence started playing in the background, sending an electrifying ripple through the bar.

He tried to call out the man behind the counter, with little success. Chandler noticed the bartender taking orders and serving the women in front of him first. He sighed, resigned to take it on the chin.

After waiting in line, he came back to the pool table with two beers. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Monica in the middle of a game with a stranger, a tall guy with gelled hair combed back, wearing a leather jacket with chains on it. He never saw him in the bar before, and was accompanied by two other men that looked even more threatening to him. Chandler rolled his eyes at the whole scene. Monica's love for any sort of game in any circumstance made her unaware of danger or trouble― the sensible, grounded woman he knew turned into a soldier on a mission.

"I like a woman who likes a challenge," the stranger said as Monica positioned the cue ball on the table and prepared to shoot.

_Of course_ , Chandler thought to himself when the man took the opportunity at that moment to look her up and down.

He inhaled sharply, he just wanted a relaxed evening hanging out with his friends and instead, Chandler found himself with guys who looked more like members of a biker gang, leering at his friend. Moreover, said friend was brazenly challenging them in a game of pool.

He put down the beers to the table closest to them, left with no other option than to watch them play and hope Monica knew what she was doing.

"Let me show you how it's done," she had said with a smirk before proceeding to send an eight ball right into the pocket.

"I thought we were playing for fun, not to show off," the stranger answered in a gruff voice and what Chandler perceived to be slight animosity.

Monica made several victorious shots in succession, some of the people that gathered around them howled and clapped, others teased the stranger, lagging behind in the game.

Chandler grew impatient and slightly anxious with time, Monica wasn't holding back and her opponent was looking less and less pleased with each passing shot.

"How about we settle this if you give me your number or around a drink?" The man said as she was leaning forward on the table for another attempt.

Monica was about to turn and answer him when the man's hands landed around her waist and he pressed himself against her.

She jerked back and pushed him off. "What―get off me!"

Chandler jolted from where he was standing and suddenly flipped the man by his shoulder. Before he could process the gravity or consequences of his actions, he punched him.

For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, Chandler froze, his eyes wide open while the stranger fell on the pool table, his hand over his bleeding nose and held by one of his friends.

When he sensed the other guy about to retaliate, Chandler quickly turned to Monica, she was looking aghast as both of her hands fell upon her gaping mouth. Incisively, he took her hand, clasped it tightly and bolted in direction of the exit door. They made their way out of the bar, Chandler looked back and heard steps behind them. They ran on Bedford Street until he made them turn on their left to end up in a small alleyway between two buildings.

He leaned over the wall with bent knees, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up at Monica, she was trying to stifle a laugh.

Chandler frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. That was just … wow," she said, with a genuine look on her face.

He chuckled nervously. "Yeah... Um, you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Are you okay?" she asked back, pointing to his hand.

Chandler clenched his fist before grimacing. "Ouch," he said before composing himself. "I'm fine."

Monica peeked at the bar. "I think they're gone."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, let's go back. I mean we have to anyway, I live upstairs now."

They walked slowly towards the bar, Chandler scanning the face of every person they passed by.

Monica carefully opened the door and examined the bar, she looked over at the pool table. Things were calm and fairly quiet, there was no sight of the stranger and his friends.

She gestured to him to follow her inside, they went to the counter and Chandler finally felt himself relax.

She ordered two beers as they sat on the stools.

"I could have punched him myself, you know," she said after taking a gulp from her drink.

He laughed, shaking his head. "Some people just don't know how to say thank you."

She grinned in response, putting down her beer. "Thank you, Chandler," she said with a smile.

Chandler offered her a shy, lopsided grin. He wasn't sure what prompted him to punch a guy bigger and taller than him, or from where that courage came but he was glad he did it.

Monica turned her head slightly, hearing the bar's door open and expecting Ross, but her eyes bulged out when she recognized one of the stranger's friends.

This time, she was the one to jump as she gripped Chandler by his sleeve, pushing him out of his seat, and dragging him to hide at the back of the bar.

It was the hallway leading to the restroom. As she suddenly stopped, she inadvertently ended up pushing him back against the wall.

It was so sudden and fast, Chandler completely lost his bearings. They were facing each other, him against the wall and her small frame pressing against him. He couldn't help glancing at her lips. Hoping she didn't notice, he tried to keep his cool composure, but the longer it went on the harder it was. Their foreheads were almost touching, he could feel her breath tinkling his throat as he looked down on her.

He wondered why she didn't pull back.

Looking up, her blue eyes were roaming his face and her expression softening. It was all too much for him when he thought he saw her lips getting closer to his … surely not?

"Well, that was a close one!" he exclaimed in a panicky, exaggerated tone.

Flustered, she pushed away from him finally. "Yep, pretty close," she said, blushing a little.

She took a few steps back in order to get some distance between them but then, she wobbled. Still close, Chandler wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her on her feet.

They smiled at each other, both feeling extremely self-conscious.

It seemed to Chandler this uncomfortably tense moment was never ending.

He straightened his shirt as she looked down at her feet.

"You know, usually I have a joke for situations like these, but I'm stumped," he said. "Maybe something about how I should've known that the game of pool only attracts bad guys?" Chandler continued, rambling while gesticulating with his hands. "Like in every movie, the bad guys always wear leather jackets and shoot some pool at a seedy bar or maybe something about the infinite potential for puns of balls―"

Monica grinned, cutting him off with a hand on his chest. "Chandler, it's ok. This is not ... awkward," she said, quickly removing her hand.

"Not at all," he whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back.

Their eyes locked again, and Chandler could feel the air around them thicken once more with tension so tangible it surprised him he didn't just run screaming for the hills.

"Chris, drinks are on me!"

They recognized Ross's voice coming from the bar, bringing them back to reality. They went back to the counter where Ross and Carol were standing, holding a bottle of wine they seemingly brought with them.

Ross turned to Chandler and Monica, and with a huge grin on his face announced, "We're engaged!"

Monica's face lit up, both out of joy and shock. She looked at Chandler to probe his reaction.

Chandler simply beamed at her. "No jokes needed, this does the trick."


	8. Closet Trekkie

"Leave a message after the beep."

_Beep._

"Hi, Ross. Call me back when you land in London, and don't forget, sweep her off her feet. Bye!"

Monica hung up the phone. She sighed, getting out from the guys' place and winced reflexively at the sight of apartment 19's door. She still couldn't get used to the whole apartment switch, even after making the place nicer and cleaner. It just didn't feel right.

Deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on, she opened the door. Chandler was lying on the armchair, he jumped out when he heard someone coming. She watched him bounce over the table to stand in front of the TV, completely flustered as he turned it off while trying to cover it simultaneously.

She pursed her lips, glancing at him patiently. "What were you watching?" she asked in an amused tone.

"Nothing," he replied, trying hard to sound casual.

Monica grinned when a realization hit her an instant later. "Ew, did you get free porn here too?"

"No!"

"Don't tell me you were … Ugh, you're a pig!" Her face scrunched up in disgust.

"No, no! It's not porn and I wasn't doing anything!" Chandler implored with an unnerved look on his face.

Monica crossed her arms expectantly. "I'm not going to believe you if you don't tell me what you were watching."

Chandler slowly moved away from the TV. She walked to him with a cheeky grin and turned it on.

"Is that―"

"Star Trek, yes," Chandler quickly answered in a resigned tone.

Monica burst out laughing. "That's what you were trying to hide―Wait! You constantly make fun of Ross for liking Star Trek ... Oh my God, you're a closeted Trekkie!"

"I am not!" Chandler sighed and went back to the chair, sitting with his head in his hands. "I―I need to know the show to make fun of Ross," he explained unconvincingly.

"Don't be embarrassed." Monica eyed Chandler, giving him her best grin. "At least, not with me." She nudged him and sat with him on the armchair. "Embrace the geek in you, Bing," she concluded, and Chandler groaned at her teasing.

"You really want to watch this with me?"

"I have some time to kill until Ross lands in London, wins Emily back and calls to thank me!"

"Your investment in Ross's love life is unsettling," Chandler remarked, he put his arm around her shoulder and they lay down with their feet on the table.

"Well, I have no choice. Given how empty my love life is, I thought I could vicariously live through everyone else's."

At this, Chandler's left eyebrow arched significantly. Monica with an empty love life? That didn't sound right. He racked his brain for the last time he saw her leave the apartment on a date and realized it had, in fact, been a while. "Come on Mon, that's temporary. It's just a bad time for you."

"I'm not sure it's temporary anymore."

"It is. Look at the upside, it could be worse, my whole life is a bad time."

She smiled, recognizing Chandler's trademark self-deprecation, it was more often than not his way of comforting people, but for the last few months, she knew this wasn't the self-described 'awkward and desperate for love' Chandler. Something in him or about him had changed. If anything she felt like the desperate one in the group.

"It's not the same, at least you had Kathy," she said in a huff.

Chandler looked away and swallowed heavily, his smile fading. Monica kicked himself mentally for voicing her thoughts out loud, she held his hand with a panicky shine in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't want to―"

"It's fine."

"I'm so stupid, I forgot."

"Monica, really. I'm perfectly fine," he reassured her while straightening himself in the armchair. "I'll just wince occasionally, but I told you already, I'm in Phase Four," he added, wiggling his eyebrows and doing his best to look casual. She pinched his waist, making him growl, and both of them ended up laughing.

Monica paused and inhaled like she was going to speak, but then the quiet stretched into long throbbing seconds. Chandler turned his attention to her, as he noticed her looking down at her lap.

"You know, Rachel has Joshua and Ross is running after Emily in London. I miss that feeling, that―"

"The fantasy, yes," he finished her sentence for her. He looked up at the TV and turned to her again. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yes please, I love secrets."

"I have a fantasy too. See that?" he tilted his head in direction of the TV and Monica followed his gaze.

"Yeah?"

"You know Ross's Princess Leia Fantasy?"

"Yes …" she said expectantly.

"Well, mine actually is more of a Commander Deanna Troi fantasy," he said, pointing to the character as she appeared on the screen.

Monica sized her up intently. "Oh," she said, a line appearing between her brows. "Yeah, I can see it."

Chandler cackled at her expression, and she flashed him a toothy grin.

He went back to watching the show, and Monica cleared her throat delicately after a moment. "Can I ask you a … personal question?"

"Sure."

"Are you really, completely over her? I mean, Kathy?" she asked softly.

Startling a little, he peered at her. "Yes," he said with a frown, pausing to ponder her question. "I really am," he finished with a nod.

The corner of her mouth quirked up and he returned her smile. Monica rested her head on his shoulder, focusing back on the TV.

"This is nice," Chandler said quietly.

"It really is."

They both sighed contentedly, watching the show in quiet, pleasant silence when Joey barged in and plopped down on the couch in dramatic fashion.

"I can't find one single Toblerone bar in all of New York!"


	9. My Chandler

Monica remembered that once, Rachel affectionately called her an octopus because, from the moment they were introduced by their parents when they were very little, she winded her tentacles around her heart, tighter and tighter after each playdate until Rachel loved her just the same.

Ever since, Monica and Rachel made a promise―and  _friends forever_  bracelets―to never let go of their friendship and throughout much of their school years, they spent hours fighting over toys and boys and studying and playing together until the end of high-school.

Until Rachel pulled away from her and Monica took a life-altering decision. Unbeknownst to them at the time, it meant eventually losing their best friend and parting ways in the adult world.

If friendships helped people mold and shape them into who they were, Monica believed that Rachel was that person for her.

When she decided to lose weight in her senior year of high school, it wasn't just to spite Chandler or prove something to her parents and every bully in school, it was also to  _be more like Rachel_.

Be as desirable and beautiful and popular; no longer live in her shadow, especially since Ross's shadow was more than enough.

She believed this was the natural order of the universe. It was to be led by Rachels, and girls like her had to work hard just to catch up with them. Rachels didn't have to worry about how they looked, whom they should please and whether they'd be good enough.

Therefore, it was surprising and startling when, years later, a drenched, altar-runaway bride Rachel, with no job and no money, turned to  _her_ to get her life in order and to follow her example.

Despite the hurt and the inevitable resentment, she couldn't turn her back to her.

Friends who trusted each other with their lives, friends who knew all of their secrets growing up, friends that got in and out of trouble together, who rode bikes and swam in the same pool and went to the same school, those were friends to the end.

"I can't believe you live on your own, it's amazing!" Rachel said at breakfast, finally able to have a catch-up talk with just the two of them, after she moved in the apartment and started waitressing at the coffeehouse downstairs.

"I lived with Phoebe for a while, but yeah," Monica said with a prideful blush she couldn't help. "But as you can see, I'm never really alone here."

Rachel smiled. "Speaking of … Lenny and Squiggy across the hall, they're funny guys."

"They're a little childish but harmless, you'll get used to them."

Rachel took a sip out of her coffee mug then stared intently at Monica. "So, did you ever,  _you know_ , with one of them?" she said, waggling an eyebrow.

Monica coughed out a husky breath. "What? Why would I? Chandler is like―"

"Chandler? Interesting. I was thinking Joey."

Monica shrugged and ducked her head away for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Well, you've had a taste of what it's like to meet Joey for the first time. He hits on you, he gets rejected then he's a really great friend."

"And Chandler?"

"Chandler is …" She started, gesturing with her hands. "Chandler is  _Chandler_."

Rachel pursed her lips. "What does that even mean?"

"It means he's Chandler, he is …" Monica mumbled as words failed her. "He's a friend … he's like, he's my Chandler, a really great friend too."

Rachel gave her an expectant look. _"Your_  Chandler?"

"Rachel, please. Not in that way."

Monica picked up the newspaper trying to distract herself.

"Didn't you have, like, a major crush on him in high school?"

" _Major_  crush? Really, Rache? I had a teeny tiny crush until he called me fat."

Rachel gasped as the memory came back to her. "Oh yes, I remember that. God, and you cut off his toe!"

"Are we doing worst Thanksgiving memories now?"

"Ok, I won't talk about it anymore." Rachel cleared her throat and lifted her cup of coffee to her mouth, drinking slowly. "One thing though, how did you two become friends after  _that_?"

Monica scratched her jaw, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she and Chandler went from sworn enemies to 'really great friends'. "I guess we simply got over it and started to hang out in college. He kind of became my best friend after you and me, you know, lost touch."

"Yeah," Rachel said, her smile fading.

"When Phoebe moved in with me, that was great. Having a girlfriend to talk about girl stuff, but then she moved out because she couldn't handle me … being me, but Chandler does, and I can handle him. He can be weird sometimes."

Rachel laughed." _Can_  be?

"Ok, he's always a little weird," Monica smiled, but then her eyes softened. "But he also handles me at my best and at my worst, that's why he's …  _Chandler_."

" _Your Chandler_."

Monica smirked in response. "Fine."

"I get it," Rachel said, putting a hand over Monica's arm. "Wow, we have so much to catch up on. I missed you, Mon. I'm sorry about the wedding and―"

"It's ok, Rachel. Water under the bridge. I missed you too."

"I should have left Barry a long time ago, you know?" Rachel explained and Monica nodded. "Last year, when I saw you at the bar and you were with your boyfriend I think, I saw your life here in the city, I started having doubts about Barry but I was too scared to do anything."

"Wait a minute," Monica interrupted her with a thoughtful frown. "At the bar with my boyfriend?" She burst out laughing when she put two and two together. "That was Chandler!"

"That was Chandler? It can't be, he didn't look like―"

"He had a goatee."

"Oh." The realization hit Rachel too, and she was unable to hold her laugh as well. "Chandler had a goatee? "

"He went through a phase."

"Oh, God. I didn't recognize him!"

They both laughed into a hot sip as Chandler came into the apartment.

"What's up, children?" he asked as the girls shared a look.

"Not much. We were talking about high-school and college and all that," Monica told him.

"My favorite campfire horror stories," he deadpanned, sitting with them and pouring coffee into a cup. "You're feeling better, Mon? Paul was a jerk, forget about him."

"Yes, I'm feeling better." Monica felt Rachel's scrutinizing eyes on her, she had to find a diversion. "Hey, listen to this, Rachel didn't recognize you last year at the bar because of your goatee."

"I don't blame you, I have a very forgettable face."

Rachel studied him. "Yeah, I remember you now. You were the guy playing pool, trying to hit on me with an eight-ball?"

"I was very awkward last year. Thank God I'm not anymore," Chandler said around a nervous cackle.

"You hit on her? Ugh, Chandler, you idiot!" Monica hit him with the newspaper. "And there I was, singing your praises."

"Ouch." He winced dramatically. "You always knew I was an idiot! Wait, you were praising me?"

"Not anymore."

"In my defense, I didn't recognize her too," he said before turning to Rachel. "I'd never hit on you if I realized you were  _the_  Rachel …" Chandler froze as if his brain caught up with the words coming out of his mouth.

" _The_  Rachel?"

"Yes, The Rachel … as in  _The_  Monica's best friend, Rachel."

Monica shook her head and Rachel gave him a baffled look then turned to her roommate. "And this guy is just a _little_ weird?" She stood up and left her mug in the sink. "All right, I have to go and serve coffee. My second shift!"

She passed by Monica and whispered into her ear, "Enjoy  _your_  Chandler."

Monica discreetly jabbed her as Rachel left the apartment, leaving her with Chandler.  _Just_  Chandler.

"I'm sorry I hit you, but that was very idiotic on your part," she said to him, and he stared at her flatly like he knew exactly the reprimand was coming.

"Apology accepted, and yes, it was."

She took a bite out of a Pop-Tart and smiled. "I'm sorry you have a forgettable face."

"It's fine. I figured she didn't recognize me too when she came into the coffeehouse."

"She did though, she was just distraught," Monica said.

"She did?"

"Don't be so surprised. How come you didn't say anything when I introduced her?"

Chandler arched an eyebrow. "Monica, I never assume anyone remembers me. It'd have just added to the embarrassment if I said something. Trust me, it's better to let things go than confront them."

She shook her head as he gazed at her impassively.

"If it makes you feel better, whatever happens in the future, I won't forget your face."

"Eh, we've shared emotional and physical scars. Of course, you won't."

They exchanged a knowing look, which morphed into a smile.

Monica finished her breakfast and went to the sink to clean the dishes. He followed her, putting down his cup, before opening the fridge, taking a bottle of water out of it, then leaning against it.

"Hey, I'm really happy that you got a roommate. I know you used to be pretty close with Rachel."

Monica turned to find him looking down, shuffling his feet inanely.

"I'm happy too. I missed her," she said, leaning herself against the sink and wiping her hands with a cloth.

"How do you do it?" he asked while scraping the label of his water.

"Do what?"

"Just … you know, open your home to this person who didn't invite you to their wedding?"

"It's what friends do, Chandler." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was a little gentler. "Sometimes you lose touch with them, but if the friendship was real, it never goes away. Rachel was my friend when nobody wanted to be ... She just got a little lost on her way."

Chandler gave her a sage nod. "Right."

"She wants to change and she needs our help. Plus, you've tasted her coffee, you know she needs it."

Chandler snorted. "You're a better friend than I am."

"You're a good friend too. You just don't realize it."

"Yeah, look. What I wanted to say is .. I have Joey, and now you have Rachel, but we'll always be  _buddies_  …So if you need anything," he tried to say with a casual shoulder shrug.

"We live across the hall from each other, we hang out every day."

"I know  _that_." He frowned. "I mean, talking or doing things just the two of us, like before … I love Joey and love spending time with him but what I'm trying to say is you're still one of my favorite people, that could never change and I―"

She walked slowly toward him and put a hand over his chest. "Chandler, stop. It's fine." She smiled at his nervous expression and scrunched up face. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

He sighed out of relief. "Oh good. You know, I'm always weird and awkward but I feel like I'm maxed out so I'll just leave."

"Okay."

"Oh wait, one more thing." Chandler stopped on his way to the door and turned back to her. "You got ten dollars?"

Monica hesitated before replying. "Um, sure. Why?"

"No reason." He smiled and left the apartment.

Monica shook her head.

Why did she think of him as  _her_  Chandler?

Was is it a Freudian slip? Due to the fact they knew each other for so long, that he played a more significant part in her life than she would ever admit to him―or anyone, or the protectiveness she felt toward him because she could see, under all those layers of random jokes and quips, a vulnerability in him somewhere, the back of his neck perhaps or the small downward tilt of his head.

She exhaled deeply. Maybe, subconsciously, a friendship this long, this close and this deep made her think of him as some kind of property. Not in a possessive way, more in a  _my person_ ,  _my calm center, my friend_  kind of way.

What was so wrong with that?

Of course, she had to make sure to drop the possessive pronoun in his presence; otherwise, she would never hear the end of it.

She quickly cleaned the apartment before starting to get lunch ready. While mindlessly chopping carrots, a memory lit a fuse in her.

She did owe him ten dollars.


	10. Cigarette Burns

The wind pushed his hair across his face and Chandler shook it away, squinting while Monica was breathing in the fresh air.

"Don't you just love this weather?" she said with a satisfied sigh, and he hummed in response as they were strolling, arm in arm, along a walkway in the middle of Central Park.

It was a breezy autumn Sunday, and the pathway ran through the middle of the green land, with huge beds of flowers south of them and a gorgeous bridge in the north. A beautiful, peaceful spot with clean, fresh air that was supposed to make Chandler relax and take his mind off smoking.

It had been one week since he decided to quit, and started to rely instead on nicotine patches.

Chandler and Monica made a deal after he moved in across the hall. Since Monica couldn't handle ―or more accurately, wouldn't tolerate― the lingering smell of nicotine, he had promised her, and Phoebe, Ross and Carol, that he would stop smoking. In exchange, Monica was taking her cheerleading role in this healthy endeavor very seriously.

A little too seriously for Chandler.

Her latest idea was to get away from the smoking-friendly bar downstairs from their building, but the effect of his morning patch was already subsiding and he definitely didn't love this windy weather. The fresh air was as triggering as the stench of alcohol and tobacco, he could feel his body tingling from the craving.

Chandler missed the smell, missed the delightful rush from the smoke seeping into his system and the feeling of comfort wrapping him like a warm blanket with each small, slow draw ...

"Chandler, you're going to break my hand!" she yelled, unclasping her hand from his tight grip and Chandler offered a shy apologetic smile.

They passed by a payphone and he suddenly stopped. "Go ahead, I have to make a call," he told her.

"I would sanitize that payphone if I were you," she replied and shrugged before she resumed walking.

Chandler waited until Monica was a few feet away, and went to frantically search the inside pockets of his jacket for his emergency cigarette. He panicked for a moment when he couldn't find it and started to look into all of his pockets until the magical, miraculous stick fell on the ground. He bent down and found the cigarette, slightly moistened. He blew on it to clean it when he felt a presence behind him and turned around to find Monica, with a far too familiar scolding frown on her face.

"This is so sad," she said, looking down at him with her arms crossed.

He rolled his eyes as he stood up and put the cigarette between his lips, his free hands immediately looking for a lighter.

She pulled the cigarette from his lips. "Why would you give up now?"

"It's too hard. I'm weak. I'm a weak man and life is short."

"Chandler, I know withdrawal is not easy but you can do it. I believe in you," she pleaded, still holding the cigarette away from him, then her expression turned into a stern look, "and I believe you know how much I can't stand the smell," she said through gritted teeth.

"That's unfair. How come you can't stand the smell of cigarettes but you're fine with Phoebe's candles and incense?"

She let out a laugh of disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"The candles!" Chandler said, gesturing to her. "Chamomile, lavender, vanilla … Universally repellent smells."

"You're unbelievable."

She hid the cigarette in her purse and took out a gum. "Here, try a fresh mint instead."

Chandler pouted and put the gum in his mouth. After chewing it for a few seconds, he inhaled dramatically. "This reminds me of that first cigarette after brushing your teeth," he reminisced dreamily. "Divine."

"You're sick."

Chandler grinned and they resumed walking. He tried hard not to think about the cigarette in her purse, he tried hard to remember it was for the best, it was for _them_ , for friendship, and it was for her. _Quit for me_ , she had said, and he had to admit to himself, he liked the sound of it. No one had ever cared enough to ask him to quit smoking before.

An idea popped into his head and he stopped walking, holding Monica's arm to get her full attention.

"I need an incentive to quit, is there something you could give up to help me?" he asked her.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "What about staying alive as an incentive?"

"Hmm, I was thinking more like you giving up coffee and me quitting smoking so we would support each other. We could be nervous, messy wrecks together," he said, with a lopsided grin and a raised eyebrow. "Imagine how fun that would be?"

She looked at him pensively as if she was considering his proposal. "So you would quit smoking but not coffee, and I quit coffee and don't smoke?" she asked rhetorically. "Seems kind of unfair."

"No no, it's not unfair," he reassured her. "See, you got super hot in one year―" he trailed off when he saw her glowering reaction. "I mean, super  _hotly_  thin in one year. You're a stronger person than I am. For that reason, I need a headstart."

She shook her head and smiled. "I can't give up coffee. I work all day on my feet, I need coffee."

"Interesting. Would you say you're ...  _addicted_  to coffee?"

"Nice try."

She started walking again but turned back to find Chandler still standing in the same spot, with a pleading pout, looking very much like an upset little kid.

"Look, Chandler, no one is forcing you to stop smoking."

"Are you kidding me? You told me I couldn't come into your apartment if I smoked and I'm guessing you won't come to mine either."

"Well, I don't need to go to your apartment, my place is way nicer."

"Fine, but I need to go to yours. Who would cook for me? Remove the stains of my shirt? Dry cleaning's gotten crazy expensive these days you know."

Monica drew a sharp inhale, trying to contain her frustration. "Chandler, smoking is bad for you."

"Oh, isn't it cute how you worry about my health?" he said with a smirk.

"Your health? Please. I'm worried about … second-hand smoking, ok? Plus, I told you, that smell gets everywhere, my clothes, my hair... The other day, my mother asked me if I was smoking."

"So?"

"So?" she said in an outraged tone. "My mother has plenty of ammunition as it is."

"You're too embarrassed to tell your mother you smoked a cigarette?" Chandler laughed.

"No, not embarrassed... And I don't smoke!"

"You never smoked a cigarette? You were never curious?"

"Once," she admitted. "But I'll never do it again."

"Why? Afraid it'll make you more relaxed and fun and cool and less neurotic?"

She tilted her head disapprovingly. "No, I smoked one cigarette and it made me puke."

Chandler watched her expression shift, and a mischievous grin appearing on her face.

"But maybe I'll just smoke your cigarette," she said in an innocent voice, slowly pulling the emergency cigarette out of her purse, "but I hope there's no one around once I start to go pale, and I feel like gagging and stomach reflexes …"

He grimaced in disgust. "Great, you're even succeeding in making smoking less cool."

"Think of it this way, next time you hold a cigarette, just imagine me barfing all over you," she said, grinning proudly.

Chandler noticed her smile growing bigger and her eyes moving away from him, he followed the subject of her gaze to find a guy jogging in the opposite direction, wearing spandex shorts and a tank top, headband and tube socks―the whole nine yards, and smiling non-stop like he was in a toothpaste commercial.

He passed them by and Monica let out a gasp, mouthing "oh my God" with wide eyes.

"Have you seen the muscles on that guy?" she said.

Chandler eyed her with a skeptical look. "You think that guy's hot? He looks like Barbie Ken."

"He's  _smoking_  hot," she emphasized. "He's so fit and probably a non-smoker too," she added, waggling her eyebrows to taunt him while giving back the cigarette.

He repeated her words in a mocking voice. "Cheap tactics, Geller."

Chandler played with the cigarette and ended up throwing it in a trash can. It was cheap tactics indeed, but the morning after, for some reason, he joined the gym near his office on his way to work.

He would never go to the gym once, but at least he stopped smoking for good, earning him back his gourmet dinners and clean shirts privileges.


	11. Unmarriable, Undateable

There were a few things Chandler wanted people to be warned about before they met him.

First, that he was lazy and sarcastic, which made for a terrible combination.

Second, the fact that he was condemned to be perpetually awkward at parties, around crowds, or any gathering of people really.

Thirdly, that his greatest talent consisted of saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time.

But most importantly and above all else, the realization he had from his early adult life of being completely and utterly undateable.

Usually, women came to that conclusion after 2 minutes into a date, he estimated. The reason he was undateable was the amalgamation of the first three things people needed to know about him.

Monica Geller, his friend of almost six years, was the very opposite of that. She was energetic and disciplined, she was earnest and a romantic at heart. She hosted the parties and the gatherings, and life had bequeathed many talents to her.

There was something almost freeing in accepting that reality about him. He was undateable and it just made sense.

He used to think Monica Geller was so together, and now he was left with the weird sense that she felt the same as him, and it defied all logic.

"Is there something fundamentally unmarriable about me?"

Of course not.

Had she thought there was? How was that even possible?

He had ruminated those questions a while after Ben's birth, as the craziness of the day was starting to dissipate. One of them was a parent now. It was Ross. Maybe it should have been Monica.

Chandler thought about the way she was holding baby Ben in her arms, tearing up and marveling at her newborn nephew. It was the most natural thing in the world. Soon enough, it would be her own son―there was no conceivable reason why she would be unmarriable and not "get one".

He couldn't exactly be honest with himself and examine whether he was joking or not when he suggested for them to get together when they'd be 40 and have a baby. He didn't like self-reflection, or at least, not the kind that would open a can of worms.

One thing was for certain―it wasn't an "I love you, let's get married and have kids" offer. It was more of a "You're so great, who wouldn't want to marry you?" kind of plea.

Unfortunately, he was Chandler. His attempts at praising and making someone feel better would always inevitably backfire because, well, he could always be counted on to say the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. Hence, the undateable status of his existence.

He glanced at her for a moment as they were standing on the sidewalk of the Beth Israel Hospital entrance, Joey hailing a cab beside him and Rachel, between him and Monica, yawning and smoothing her formal black dress.

Monica looked lost in her thoughts, a weird mix of happiness and longing emanating from her eyes. Chandler wondered if he had to say or do something but ultimately decided against it.

As soon as the cab arrived, Rachel called shotgun and sat in the front making Joey whine. Chandler and Monica settled in the back with Joey in the middle. Silence reigned as the cab started, they were spent emotionally and physically, aiming to go home and rest while Ross stayed with Carol and Susan and the baby.

The rush of happiness and excitement dissolved and instead, tiredness took them over.

"I need to go to a strip club. I've seen enough babies for a lifetime," Joey suddenly blurted out.

"Joey, you have seven sisters," Monica reminded him.

"Yeah, and your point is?" Joey said, genuinely baffled.

Monica and Chandler shared a look. Sure enough, Joey made them stop at the sight of the first strip club on their way, and went over Chandler to get out of the car, ignoring his friend's outraged look.

"He's unbelievable," Rachel lamented.

"Coffee anyone?" Monica asked, as Chandler straightened in his seat and the cab started again.

"Yeah, no more coffee for me today," Rachel said, "I'm going to―wait, there's a Manolo Blahnik sale!" She pointed from the window. "Stop here, please. Bye guys!"

Monica shook her head. Chandler glanced at her again, but this time decided to say something.

"And then, there were two."

Her head was resting against the window, her eyes flickered as she turned to smile warmly at him.

"Are you ok?" Chandler proceeded cautiously.

"Yeah," she said under her breath, before looking at him. "I was thinking about Ben. He's so cute."

The affection for her nephew manifesting in her voice and the way her nose scrunched up made Chandler grin widely. "He is," he said sincerely. "Thankfully, he didn't get his looks from Ross."

His quip made Monica roll her eyes and avert her gaze from him, focusing on the road instead.

"Listen, your baby will be the cutest little thing," he said, trying to smooth whatever faux pas he had made. "Now, you definitely have the looks in the family."

Monica narrowed her eyes at his delighted expression. "Did you just call my future baby a thing?"

"It's an expression―ok, bigger picture here."

She laughed and got closer to him, patting his arm. "I'm sorry. Thank you, Chandler," she paused, weighing her words, "and I appreciate your offer."

He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying you're considering it?"

"You were joking. Not one of your best jokes, if I'm honest."

"Come on, Mon. What's so bad about me? We would have super cute babies  _and_  with a great sense of humor."

Monica stared at him for a moment, biting her lip. "We would be a disaster."

"What? W―why would you say that?!" Chandler gesticulated frantically. "Best friends make great parents."

"We would fight all the time, and babies, they're a huge responsibility."

"We wouldn't fight, we don't fight now!"

Amused by his reaction, she took a deep breath, "Because we're friends. If we were … whatever you're suggesting, the things that we like about each other would become the things that would make us want to smother each other in our sleep."

"You're saying you don't really like me?" Chandler crossed his arms and looked at her straight-faced.

"Of course I like you! Would you let it go …" she trailed off, looking from the window. "This is the longest cab ride in history."

"Fine, I'll let it go."

Merely a few seconds later, he reached his arm to tap on her shoulder and get her attention. "I'm just saying, our baby would have your eyes, and hopefully, just your … physical features in general, and my talented mouth."

Monica blinked at him, thrown off by the unintentional innuendo, her face then softening into a grin. "Sure, Chandler."

"But I hope he gets my smile, I have a really cute smile. No offense."

"None taken," she said around a snort.

Chandler loved whenever he successfully made her laugh so loud she snorted. He would never admit this to anyone, but it was the most adorable and rewarding sound ever.

The cab reached their building and they made their way up the stairs until they stopped in the hall between their apartments.

"Movie night, what do you think?" Chandler suggested.

Monica pondered his proposition for a moment, before nodding. "My place, be careful with the popcorn crumbs and I get to pick the movie."

He stared blankly at her. "Our kids would be bossy, wouldn't they?"

"Probably," she replied, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Are you taking back your offer?"

Chandler opened the door to her apartment, feigning to think about it, and letting her go inside first. "No. I wouldn't have it any other way," he said grinning at her.

Perhaps they would be a disaster as parents, Chandler thought, or maybe there was one timeline in a web of alternate universes where Mr. Undateable and Ms. Unmarriable would get together to raise the best kids in the galaxy with the cutest smiles and the greatest sense of humor.


	12. Little Harmonica

It had started as early as she could remember her first childhood memories.

There was the bedroom they had shared until the time came to separate them. Ross got the radio, the Atari console, The Six Million Dollar Man action figure. Then, there were the karate lessons―Ross wanted to quit after a few sessions and they were both pulled out from the class despite Monica enjoying and excelling at the sport. All the fights he had started but she had been grounded for, the piano recitals she had performed to make them proud but they hadn't shown up for … A never-ending list of bitter anecdotes.

Monica had swallowed the sadness each time, believing her parents simply were the way they were, excusing and rationalizing their behavior. It was easier that way, it had allowed her to enjoy the genuinely good family times, she didn't hate her parents and she never wanted to hate Ross forever.

Yet there they were, in their early twenties, blossoming into full self-sufficient adults and it was the same. She still felt like a little girl around them.

For Judy and Jack Geller, the world would always revolve around Ross.

Monica looked down at her plate, she was almost finished. She looked at Ross laughing with her mother and father. It was like she wasn't there, she wasn't privy to the jokes and the conversations. Monica accepted long ago this was how things would go whenever they had dinner with their parents, but sometimes, just like at this moment, she felt strangely dissociated from the three of them. She would imagine what would happen if she just disappeared right at that point. Would they notice? Would they miss her?

Jack and Judy stood up from their chairs, bringing Monica out of her thoughts. She smiled at them as they thanked her for dinner, courtesy was her shield.

"Ross, next time bring Carol, she's family now," Jack said as they walked to the door of Monica's apartment while Ross was handing them their coats.

"Yes, honey," Judy said, then as if noticing her daughter for the first time that night, she looked at Monica with a delayed reaction, "and Monica, dear, did you ask your brother if he knows any eligible men in his department?"

Monica took a deep breath and glanced at her brother. "Mom, I don't need Ross to get me a boyfriend."

"Not with that attitude, sweetie," her father said absentmindedly.

Monica rolled her eyes and shot a pleading look to Ross.

"All right, tonight was fun," Ross said, kissing his mother on the cheek and hugging his father.

Judy quickly kissed her daughter then Jack pulled her into a tight hug just as Ross opened the door, and Chandler appeared on the other side about to knock.

"Don't worry, my little Harmonica," Jack said to Monica, unaware of Chandler's sudden presence behind him. "There's someone out there for you."

Monica thanked him stiffly. Jack turned to find Chandler at the door and his expression immediately shifted, his wife was already staring him down.

"Oh, Chandler," she said in a cheerless tone.

"And good evening to you as well," Chandler deadpanned, uncomfortable in the presence of the entire Geller family, feeling like a bull in a china shop. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Geller if I'm interrupting anything important, I thought―"

Chandler was cut off by Monica pulling him vigorously by the arm inside the apartment.

"Chandler, you're here. Thank God, I was waiting for you," she said in a forcefully enthusiastic voice, leaving him puzzled.

"You were?"

"Yeah. For that thing … you promised to fix in my bathroom," Monica said with a long hard look motioning Chandler to catch up with her.

"Erm, oh yeah, fixing bathrooms. I'm very good at that. It would be my utmost pleasure to fix that thing in your bathroom."

Judy and Jack Geller were standing in the doorway with Ross, they shared a perplexed look. Judy leaned to whisper to her husband, although Monica was sure her mother knew everyone could hear her, "I don't understand the nature of this relationship," she said, to which Jack simply shrugged.

Ross, sensing his sister's and best friend's discomfort, guided his parents toward the stairway. "Ok, let's go. I'm going to call a cab home." He hugged his sister and smiled apologetically at her, before leaving with Jack and Judy.

Monica closed the door then leaned against it with her eyes closed followed by a deep sigh.

"I feel like I shouldn't be here."

She heard Chandler say and opened her eyes to look at him. "No, you came in at the right time," she said, going over the dinner table and picking up the plates.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

Monica tilted her head at him with a frown in response.

"And I'm guessing your bathroom doesn't need to be fixed?"

"Even if it did, you really think I would call  _you_?"

Chandler had moved in across the hall a few weeks before, and during that time, she had to teach him the name and usage of each equipment in her tool kit while fixing a plumbing leak in his kitchen.

"Hey, no need to snap at me."

Monica put the plates on the table and sat down. "I'm sorry, I know … it was a very long night."

Chandler walked over to her and picked up the plates, he looked down at her and bashfully squeezed her shoulder. "Let me help."

Monica followed him and watched him roll up his sleeves, a serious look on his face as he turned the water on, filling the sink. She noticed that he didn't get the water hot enough to her taste before plugging the drain and filling it. In normal circumstance, she would freak out at such blatant disregard for proper cleaning technique. But for once, she wasn't in the mood to reprimand him and instead welcomed the distraction and the assistance.

He reached for a plate and frowned at it, proceeding to try and scrap the remains of lasagna on it. Monica leaned against the counter and watched him, she smiled and shook her head at his cluelessness.

"I would have liked to taste your lasagna, little Harmonica," he said after a while, peering at her over a plate he was drying, using it to hide a teasing smirk.

Her mouth gaped and her index finger aimed at his chest. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's a cute nickname," Chandler teased her again with a wide grin.

"Only my dad calls me that, it just makes me feel like a stupid little girl."

"Well, I like it. I think it's cute. Do you want to know what my father used to call me when I was little?"

"Do I want to know?"

He laughed at that. "No, probably not, but it would have made you feel so much better."

She returned his smile, patting him on the shoulder on her way to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I think your parents don't like me," he said suddenly.

Monica bit her lip. It was true, her parents didn't like Chandler much and she couldn't pinpoint why exactly, other than a failed first impression, or protectiveness over 'the nature of their relationship', or his sardonic demeanor … Well, maybe she knew why. But she wouldn't tell him. They didn't know him like she did. They didn't get to witness how incredibly tenderhearted he could be despite his sarcastic exterior, particularly when it was just the two of them.

"No, they like you, they don't know how to show it. Hell, they might even like me." Her voice was dejected and a little sad. Chandler looked at her over his shoulder and she answered the question in his eyes. "Just not as much as Ross."

"You know you're as good as him, right?"

Her eyes flickered at the unforeseen compliment.

"As good as Ross," he clarified without hesitation. "I'm sorry your parents don't see it. I don't get it really, but I―I, uh," he paused, closing his eyes to the point of wincing at his own vulnerability, searching for the right words, "you're the most impressive person I've ever met."

His words, his tone made her heart wilt a little. The corner of her mouth turned up and she got closer to him. He turned to face her but she didn't meet his eyes, a flush of color appearing on her face instead. "You're not too bad yourself," she said as she left a slow kiss on his cheek.

It took Chandler a moment to compose himself again. "Good enough for me," he joked, drying his hands on a cloth. "You're going to be ok?"

"I am now."

Chandler smiled and nodded. He started to walk toward the door before stopping in his tracks. "Oh. You know, the light in my fridge is starting to―"

"I'll fix it first thing in the morning."

He thanked her with two thumbs up. "You're the best, I love you."

He said those words so freely and innocently it made fondness clench at her chest.

She realized it was the first time one of them had casually dropped "l love you" as good friends do. She wouldn't have bet on them becoming good friends the first time they met and now they were best friends, who comforted and were there for each other at all times. She didn't care if her parents didn't understand the "nature of their relationship", it was a special bond, a secret treasure.


	13. Big Bully

Monica took off the roller skates and put them in her work bag, wearing her sneakers instead. She took out the blonde wig and fixed her hair in front of the mirror of the Moondance Diner locker room. Like most of the time since she started working at the restaurant, she didn't bother taking out the fake breasts out of her bra, with the commute home being fairly short. She'd simply wear a jacket as if she couldn't wait and get out of her workplace.

With a deep, bracing breath, she did one more check of the diner before opening the door; taking in the warmth of the spring air and sighed, looking up at the rotating moon sign at the entrance.

This job wasn't just unpleasant but also humiliating―serving Laverne and Curly fries was one thing, but dancing and singing on the counter was a whole new level of embarrassment.

She had to remind herself this was part of being an adult, part of trying to make it in a city like New York. She got lucky after culinary school, starting her career at Iridium and Café des Artistes. Too lucky almost, she had to pay her dues at some point. Everyone had to. Joey had crappy acting jobs, Rachel had to pour coffee all day, even Chandler was once an intern doing the worst, dullest assignments―actually, he had a good paying job but was still inflicted the worst, dullest assignments.

There was no way around or under it, she simply had to push through it. At least, not everything in her life was going south. She had a boyfriend, the best relationship of her life, it immediately put a smile on her face.

Monica turned on the corner of 6th Avenue when Chandler suddenly appeared before her, sitting on the sidewalk, seemingly shuffling his feet at something.

Startled, she did a double take upon seeing him, a hand going to her chest. "Oh God! What are you doing here?"

Chandler turned to her and quickly stood up. "Waiting for you, done with your shift?"

"Yeah, I'm done … Why are you waiting for me?"

"Can't a friend wait for another friend without raising suspicions?"

She smiled then narrowed her eyes at him. "Did Joey and Ross ditch you for their dates?"

"Yeah," he answered half-heartedly.

She shook her head then threaded her arm through his, walking side by side. She was lost in thought for a while, as traffic passed by.

"What about your date?" Chandler asked, bringing her out of her reverie. "Where's Richard?"

"He's busy."

Chandler's eyebrow lifted, half of his mouth turning up in a distinctive smirk. "If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn't let you get home on your own at night."

She laughed at that, gently pinching his side. "So gentlemanly of you. Didn't you just get beaten up by those guys at the coffeehouse?"

"Hey, I got my hat back!"

Monica tried to fight a smile but failed, she cleared her throat then spoke slowly, "Richard doesn't know that I work here … yet."

A surprised look appeared on his face. He nodded, almost politely, but Monica could read that expression and realized he was working that information around in his thoughts like a Tetris piece.

"Why not?" he asked, "I figured a 1950s themed diner would be right up his alley."

Monica rolled her eyes. There it was―every time she thought maybe Chandler was going to speak his mind, tell her his honest opinion, particularly when it came to one of her relationships. Instead, he always found a way to come up instead with a sarcastic, cutting remark.

"I mean," he continued, "he's exactly the target audience. All the memories it would bring up for him, can you imagine?"

She pinched him a lot harder this time, making him jump out. "Would you stop with your  _Richard is old_  jokes?"

Chandler's mouth turned up at the corners. "All right. But I can still make  _Richard is tall_  jokes?"

"Fine."

"So, why didn't you tell Bigfoot?"

Monica looked at him with the same expression she used when she was hoping he didn't just tell yet another joke, but then resigned herself and gave up reprimanding him again. "I am a little … embarrassed," she said, shoulders slumping.

"You have no reason to be."

"Sure, because you weren't having the time of your life when I was dancing over jukebox music."

"It was too good, and I had a lot of coins."

She tilted her head at him with a deep sigh. "You know what? You, mister, are just a big, ol' mean bully."

Chandler gasped in mock-outrage. "Excuse me?"

"You complain about getting bullied but you're the one doing the bullying most of the time. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out you were a bully in high-school."

"What? I was a nerd and the class clown."

"Nerds and clowns can be bullies too," Monica said matter-of-factly.

"Ok, now that is just … defamation. I am the victim here, I have years of suffering under my belt. Wedgies, endless hours spent inside a locker … you name it."

Monica couldn't resist his pout. She rested a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know what that feels like."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head at him.

"Remember? I was bullied too, Chandler. I got teased about my weight all the time, kids can be mean."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot because, you know, you're so hot now it's hard to believe you ever were a target of mean bullies."

"So charming," she said sarcastically and he grinned at her.

"So, what's your advice to cope with that?"

She paused, pondering. "Give it as good as you get it."

"That's your advice? Violence?"

"Oh yeah, that's what worked best. Especially with Ross."

Chandler laughed dryly. "You really beat him up?"

"I still do."

"Oh come on. I mean, I know you're strong but―" he was interrupted by Monica's arms wrapping around him and trapping him in a bear hug. "Oh my God!" he screamed out then Monica released him.

"I should have called you to deal with the bullies!" he said, trying to relieve the pain by rubbing his neck.

Monica let out a snort. "Well, maybe next time."

"It's ok, we made peace with those guys, there won't be a next time."

"Sure, but you better not put another coin in that damn jukebox. Or else." She flexed her arm muscles at him. He smiled and they resumed walking,

"So do you get to take the fake boobs home? I could use a throw pillow," Chandler said, and anticipating her attack, he stepped away from her on instinct.

"Just joking." He beamed at her annoyed smirk, then wrapped her shoulders and kissed her temple. They walked again, Monica snuggling into his arm as they reached Bedford Street.


	14. Crying Shoulder

Chandler woke up and groaned at the pain he felt from moving his sore muscles. It was after 11 AM but he was still tired, deciding to take the day off from work. He had gone back to sleep after Monica tried to enlist him in her work out routine at 6 AM.

_6 AM!_

It had been the last straw, he couldn't handle her anymore. All he wanted was to lose a few pounds, maybe feel a little better about himself and less guilty the next time he smoked a cigarette. But Monica took to working out like he did to chain-smoking: morning, noon and night. She couldn't be stopped anymore and he had to bring out the big guns.

He went into the bathroom and after a quick shower, he stood in front of the mirror to shave, taking a moment to examine his body, he looked okay. Well, Okayish. Sure, his daily consumption of beers and pizza was showing a little in his belly―he blamed it all on Joey― and in an ideal world, chicken wings would convert into muscles. Bulging biceps would be nice, he thought to himself as he flexed his arm. But was it worth a Sunday morning workout? Hell no.

Chandler washed his face and paused, sighing. He could have been nicer about it, reminiscing about his morning's tirade to her, hardly expecting it to work like a particularly effective hypnosis session.

She wasn't on the sofa where he had left her to sleep. Monica would be fine though. She had to be, she was  _Monica_  after all. Strong-willed and stubborn. Annoyingly strong-willed and stubborn.

He put on a pair of wool pants and a shirt, then went to apartment 20 where Joey and Phoebe were hanging out at the kitchen table.

"Hey, where is everybody?" he asked them, on his way to the counter.

"Monica is in her bedroom and Rachel's working," Phoebe said.

Chandler nodded and joined them at the table, sipping his late morning cup of coffee. He shot a quick glance toward Monica's bedroom. It was very unusual for her to sleep in, but then again, his words were pretty harsh and he began to regret them. It wasn't meant to be hurtful but maybe he had been, maybe he had underestimated the power of his words.

He got up and walked to her bedroom, Joey and Phoebe stared at him as he approached her door.

"Hey Mon, you okay there?"

He put his ear against it but was then met by a big thud from the impact of an object thrown at the door.

"Go away!" Monica shouted.

"Dude, what did you do?" Joey said.

"I didn't do anything, I mean nothing serious …"

"Oh, you're in trouble, Bing. Good luck!" Phoebe said, leaving the apartment.

Chandler looked at Joey for reassurance but his friend just shrugged. "Yeah, I don't want to be here when Monica gets angry," he said, following Phoebe.

Chandler took a deep breath, already lamenting his decision to skip work. "Monica, please. You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Mad?  _Mad_?" She yelled again and he winced at the shrillness of her voice, picturing the hot flare of anger that must have been shooting through her.

"Why would I be mad that my friend basically called me a big, fat loser!"

"I―I never said used the word fat," he said before he could think of an appropriate answer.

"Leave me alone!"

"Oh come on, I'm sorry. I apologize, you're not a loser! I―I just didn't want to work out, and I'm always willing to go the extra mile to avoid working out," Chandler said, then thought about the irony of that phrasing and shook his head. "What will it take to forgive me?"

"Do you have a time machine to take back your words?"

"No."

"Then I guess nothing."

"Please, pretty please," Chandler said, this time his voice gentle and small.

A moment of silence followed. He saw it as an opportunity. "I can make coffee, or cook for you?"

She snickered loudly.

"Ok, how about I do your laundry and the dishes for a week? A month?"

"That would only make things worse and you know it!"

"You gotta give me something, Mon," he said, a little discouraged until an idea popped into his head. "How about I take you shopping? Anywhere you want to go and I buy you whatever you want."

"Are you suggesting I could be bribed?" she said, her tone of voice pointed.

"Nooo … maybe?"

Another silence followed, then to his surprise, Monica slowly opened the door.

"I have a job interview tomorrow, I could use a new outfit," she said bashfully.

Chandler held his hands together and grinned. "That's perfect! Let's go shopping!"

"I'm dragging your butt to Barneys, so you better get your credit cards ready," she warned.

"Whatever your heart desires." Chandler winked with a smirk, and Monica's features softened, her pout turning into a sly smile.

As it turned out, Chandler realized there was something more grueling than working out with Monica: shopping with Monica on Madison Avenue.

They were the only customers at Barneys that afternoon, Chandler was informed by Monica that people who shop at Barneys were apparently discreet, they would come in and buy five pair of shoes, each one priced at 400$ at the very least and leave. Chandler listened to her ramblings as she changed from a Saint Laurent blazer to a Roberto Cavalli top―cringing at the prices and wishing time would go as fast as in a movie shopping montage.

They arrived at the shoe section of the department store and Monica stopped, all of a sudden squeezing his arm at the sight of a Louboutin pair, completely heart-struck.

"I guess you like those ones," Chandler said.

" _Like_  them? I want to marry them."

"Oh boy, I wouldn't like being in their shoes," Chandler said, chuckling at his own joke, earning him a death stare from Monica.

"I'll get them, I don't care if they don't fit," she said, then turned again to Chandler, who was already holding his credit card to her and beaming earnestly.

Chandler laughed at Monica's giddiness on their way to the counter. The crisis had been averted. He'd rather be 400$ poorer than have Monica Geller pissed at him, forgiveness came at a cost.

He handed his credit card to the saleswoman behind the counter, she congratulated Monica on her taste. "This pair is one of the trendiest of the year, great pick," she said. Monica could hardly contain her happiness. The saleswoman put the box of shoes in a shopping bag and handed it to Monica. "A pair of Louboutins. This one is a keeper," she told her with a wink, tilting her head toward Chandler.

Chandler laughed and Monica shot him a look. He cleared his throat and said flatly, "We're not a … We're not together."

"Oh, sorry. That's a shame."

Suddenly, Monica ran out through the exit. Startled, Chandler turned and tried to follow her, but he stopped in his steps when he realized she forgot the shoes. He went back to the counter to take them. Outside the department store, he found Monica sitting on the sidewalk with her head in her hands.

"Monica, what's going on? You don't like them? We can get you another pair."

"I'm a charity case."

"What?" he said, still standing up.

"I'm a total failure," she said, bursting into tears, "and I'm making you buy me shoes to feel better about myself."

Chandler felt his heart clench and swallowed, sitting beside her. "It's not charity and you're not a failure, Mon."

"Yes, I am. I have no job, no boyfriend, you said it yourself."

"What the hell do I know? I have no girlfriend either and my job sucks," he tried to reassure her, his arm going over her shoulder. She buried her face in his shirt, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"How did I get here? All my life, I tried to do everything that was asked of me. I worked hard because I was told that's how you get the job of your dreams, I lost the weight because I was told that's how you get a boyfriend. And now what? This is what I get, I get a whole lot of nothing to show for all my effort."

He held her for a few minutes and he almost lost track of time and space, as his right hand rubbed slow circles on her back, comforting her sobs with  _shhh_  sounds.

"You don't have  _nothing_ , you have friends," he said quietly, "and you have this year's trendiest shoes." He put the shoes in her lap, and he swore he saw the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

She finally pulled back, sniffing.

"And you have me," he added in a soft voice. "Maybe you don't need a boyfriend's shoulder to cry on, my insulated shoulder would be happy to do that."

She laughed a little at that, wiping her face and trying to look as collected as possible. "You must think I'm even more pathetic now."

"No. You're Monica, you will be fine. You will bounce back, you always do."

She went quiet for a moment, almost like she was suddenly shy, taking a deep breath before speaking, "Is it wrong that I want the whole thing? The shoes, the money to buy the shoes, and the guy who buys me shoes, all at once?"

"No, it's not wrong," he answered in a whisper. "We all want it."

She tilted her head at him, her lips pursed.

"I mean, not the guy, I'm not―you know what I mean."

Monica smiled, then realized the weight of such words emanating from one Chandler Bing. "You want it all?"

"Yeah, I might be able to buy overpriced shoes, I shouldn't complain to you … but I get what you mean, I want the whole thing too."

Her eyebrows shot up at his confession.

"Not now, but … one day," he specified.

"One day," she repeated quietly, nodding before looking up at him. "I'm sorry, your shirt is all wet with my tears and snot."

"It's okay."

Monica smiled gratefully and they finally stood up. Chandler hailed a taxi. When they arrived home, in the hallway, Monica turned to him as she was about to open the door to apartment 20.

"Chandler, this stays between us?"

Chandler nodded, he ran his pinched fingers and thumb across his lips in a  _my lips are sealed_  gesture just as Phoebe came up from the stairs.

"Hey Mon, Rachel told me to wait for her at your place, she has  _huge_  news apparently, but girls only," Phoebe said then looked at him. "You're not included, Chandler."

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Thanks for clearing that up."

Monica laughed and Phoebe looked between them. "So, are you two okay?"

They both smiled at each other.

"Yeah, we're okay," Monica told her.

"See you later," he told the girls before they went inside Monica's apartment.

Chandler stepped into his apartment and found Joey eating pizza at the counter with Ross.

"Chandler, where the hell were you? I have news!"


	15. Bed Trip

Chandler stirred in his sleep, an annoyed grunt escaped him. He felt something poking him in the middle of his back. He turned, slowly coming into conscience with his eyes still closed, realizing he was uncomfortable from sleeping in the same position all night. And it wasn't his bed, definitely not his comfortable large-sized bed or his bedroom. It couldn't be since he had moved out from his mother's penthouse, and had just moved in across the hall from Monica's apartment and was now sleeping on her cramped couch.

He could feel fingers poking at him on his shoulders now, but was still incapable of opening his eyes through heavy eyelids.

"What? Who's this?" he grumbled.

"It's Kim Basinger."

He should have recognized the voice but he was in that transitional state, in-between sleep and full wakefulness, where anything could be reality or dream.

"What?" His eyes opened slowly, then went wide when he found Monica standing in front of him, covering her eyes with a hand and her head turned away from him.

"It's me, doofus. Are you decent?"

"You think I would sleep naked on your couch? Of course, I'm decent!"

"Well, you never know with guys, when they sleep, when they wake up," she explained in a singsong voice, "but hey, no judgment."

"Whatever." Chandler sighed, covering himself up with the blanket for … he couldn't tell why. He was in shorts and wearing a t-shirt. Because it was true, guys, when they sleep, when they wake up ... "What do you need?"

She crossed her arm and tilted her head as if the answer to his question was the most obvious thing in the world. She glanced at her watch. "It's 6 AM. We need to go now before Phoebe gets up."

He sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Isn't this whole 'Phoebe, Pottery Barn' feud a little overdramatic?"

"It's the right amount of dramatic. So please drag your butt out of bed and get ready," she said, handing him a cup of coffee that was on the table and he could swear it might as well have appeared there magically. "You have 15 minutes."

She walked to her bedroom as he pulled the blanket over his face again.

"Ok, Sergeant Hartman," he said with his voice muffled, Monica turned to him.

"What?"

"Nothing. Thanks for the coffee," he ended, holding the cup.

Half an hour later, Chandler showered and dressed in his own bedroom.

He opened the door to find Monica in his living room, rotating a piece of cardboard on the floor and he wondered how someone could have so much energy this early in the day. It was blasphemous really, and an enigma to him―what kind of infinite fuel source was continually burning inside her, driving her to help a doofus like him at ungodly hours?

"What are you doing?" he tentatively asked.

"Thinking about the best way your future couch would fit here. Do you have a tape measure?"

"I don't have a bed to sleep on but you think I have a tape measure? You really overestimate how put-together my life is."

"I'll get one from Mr. Treeger," she said, opening the door of his apartment. "He's the super by the way, and oh, you're not allowed to upset him or go all …  _Chandler_  on him."

Chandler raised his eyebrows and smirked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he knows I'm subletting the apartment illegally under my grandmother's name, so you're not allowed to do that  _face_  that you do," she said pointing in a circle to his face, "or use that _tone_  that you use with Mr. Treeger."

He stared at her blankly. "So I'm not allowed to look at him or speak to him."

"Pretty much, yes."

An hour later, they were walking on West 57th Street on their way to the Pottery Barn store. Monica leading the charge and Chandler following her, dragging his feet and trying to recover from the abrupt early morning awakening.

"Are you well rested?" she asked, suddenly stopping in her tracks with a hand on his chest, in the entryway of the store.

"I'm great, it's not like I was aggressively woken up at 6 AM," he deadpanned.

She frowned at his tone, and pushed him inside the store. "You need to be well rested to make the best decision," she said then gripped his hand tightly, her blue eyes glowing with stark seriousness. "You  _never_ go bed shopping when you're tired. Every mattress will feel comfortable, and you won't be able to pick the right one. A bed is a serious purchase in your adult life, you will spend a third of it on that thing. My grandmother used to tell me, a well-rested person makes a shrewd buyer."

Chandler snorted. "What kind of life do you lead that you know or think about things like that?"

Exasperation was etched onto her features as her brow furrowed. "The kind where you don't end up sleeping on my couch because you picked the wrong bed."

He laughed as they passed by The Aisle of Unnecessary Things on their way, or at least what Chandler decided to baptize it. It had banana holders, mechanized egg crackers, apple slicers, and other weird, bizarre home goods.

"You know, it doesn't matter. I am well rested so I'll just pick one for you," Monica said when they arrived at the bed department of the store.

"Yeah, it's not like I'm the one spending a third of my life sleeping on it or something, and more likely all on my own."

"Well, you never know," she said, biting her lip and glancing side to side as Chandler's eyes bulged.

"You're messing with me."

She burst out laughing, smacking his chest. "See, you're not the only one who makes jokes."

"You're funny."

Soon, they were accosted by a saleswoman as they started to try on the beds separately.

"Hi, welcome to Pottery Barn. How can I help you?" the salesperson asked them.

Monica quickly stood on her feet and went to her, Chandler behind. "Hey, we're looking for a bed. A single bed," Monica said, motioning to Chandler.

"We have all kinds of options. Full sized, Queen size, King size, California King―"

"How about a regular size bed for regular sized people," Chandler said, in a tone of cutting sarcasm he couldn't help as the woman led them to the single beds' section.

"It's me or she gave me a weird look when she said queen size?" Chandler whispered to Monica and she shook her head.

"It's you."

Monica's face lightened up suddenly when they were presented by the many models of beds. "So many options. This is so exciting, aren't you excited?" she exclaimed.

"We need to work on your definition of the words 'fun' and 'exciting', maybe get you a different dictionary."

"Come on." She tugged on his t-shirt as she caught sight of one bed. "Let's try this one, it's a simple one."

They both sat on the edge of the bed, Chandler bouncing on it a few times while Monica was inspecting the mattress's sturdiness. Then, he laid back for a second, staring mindlessly at the ceiling and closing his eyes; picturing himself on a lazy Sunday morning in this bed, or perhaps with someone in a dream he'd never want to wake up from.

"That's the one."

Chandler heard Monica's voice coming from his left, he turned to find her lying down on the bed too, staring at him.

"The one?"

"Yes. You had a goofy, dreamy look on your face. That means it's the bed for you."

"I hope it's a good omen for the rest of the third of my life."

Monica smiled. "You know, for the other two thirds, you could always crash on my couch." She sat up against the headboard suddenly. "Ok, now comes the lowballing and the haggling. Follow my lead," she said, standing up to go to the saleswoman.

"No, honey, come back to bed," he told her with a pout.

Monica turned to him and laughed. "Come on, let's make a shrewd buy."

Chandler propped himself up on his elbows watching her talk to the salesperson. Maybe Monica was right, maybe this was indeed the first step to becoming an actual grown-up. No more maids, no more housekeepers, no more Ross. He had his own apartment now and he would have to attend to it. He'd make sure not to run out of toilet paper which up until this point in his life, always just  _existed_ , but he started to believe he could do it.

True, the chances with Monica as a neighbor were so much better.

He needed to do things on his own now, and a nice bed to sleep like a king was a start. But there was comfort in knowing there would always be a couch to sleep on across the hall.


	16. A London Particular

On another day and in another place, Chandler would have done what he did so many times before. He'd have told her that if she was so sad and lonely, he would gladly be her boyfriend, offer her company, the life she always dreamt of, so what if that consisted of marriage and kids? He would say and on some level probably do whatever she needed to relieve the pain and sorrow.

But the words of comfort weren't working anymore, not tonight.

He felt her ache and internal anguish, and his inability to alleviate it for the very first time possibly in their friendship was weighing him down just as much. He was failing and around Monica, he didn't like failure.

He stared at her for a few quiet seconds, her elbows dejectedly sitting on the bar, her head resting on one hand while the other was shaking the ice in her glass of scotch. Her red dress left most of her shoulders bare, and for a moment he lost himself gazing at her defined collarbones, her arms sculpted by the hours of working out, and at her freckles covering her skin, all of her somehow epitomized in one physical feature.

She reached for the bottle the barman had left to them, he stopped her hand and peered into her glass.

"I think you've had enough, Mon."

"Don't you think I know that?" she said, holding her glass, fingers brushing away the drops of condensation.

He nodded resignedly and let her refill her drink.

There was something different about this time but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was lonely too, convinced more than ever that he wasn't destined for happiness, that he missed his shot for love  _ever after_ with Kathy. But he had embraced that loss, concluding expectations were just resentment waiting to happen.

Perhaps the difference was how vulnerable and genuinely sad she looked. No, it was different than the aftermath of her breakups, with Kip, with Richard or with Pete, it was different than Ben's birth or the loss of her job.

It was despair.

Witnessing someone else going through the same process of losing hope he went through, seeing it on someone he cherished so much, on someone who never gave up on anything or anyone, made his heart clench. People like Monica weren't supposed to lose hope.

And for once, words were failing him.  _Who wouldn't want her?_  It was so painfully obvious to him. But he didn't know what she expected of him tonight.

Compliments, comforting words, a drinking buddy or a funny friend? Would it even be enough this time?

"You don't have to keep me company, you know. I'm sure Joey would love a wingman," she said suddenly, taking another gulp from her scotch that was mostly melted ice now.

On another night, such a cutting remark would be playful with affection and gentle teasing baked into it. Tonight, it was bitter and melancholic.

"I think I have to, but it doesn't matter. You know I want to help with ... whatever you need right now."

"Whatever I need right now," she repeated as if thinking each word over. "I know what I need right now. But I don't want to hurt you. I can't do that to you."

He looked at her with bewildered silence, taken aback by the cryptic words. "What is it that you can't do to me?"

He was almost afraid to blink, gauging her. There was a question in her eyes, in the way she was staring at him and for a moment, he thought she was going to tell him what was on her mind. She dropped her gaze back to her lap. "Why are we so bad at this?"

"Speak for yourself, I'm great at this," Chandler retorted. "What's  _this_?"

"This love or dating or whatever thing."

"Oh." He ran his hand through the front of his hair. "I don't know about that―"

"Maybe it's just a bunch of crap," Monica cut him off. "A social construct or something," she added then gave a skeptical look down at her glass and sighed. "Who am I kidding? I want all that crap."

Chandler watched her carefully take another sip, then as she dropped a napkin on the floor and reached for it, she stumbled and almost fell. He reached for her and held her. "You're just having a bad night, let's take you to your room."

"Noooo," she groaned. "I'm fine."

"If you can't stand up on your own, you're not fine."

"Is that a challenge, Bing?"

Chandler gave her a sad smile then looked at her with a stark expression. Words were failing him tonight and he had to admit defeat. "I'm taking you to your room and I insist. Even if it's not what you want," he said sternly.

"Okay," she said quietly, without putting up resistance, to his surprise and taking one last gulp, draining it with a long swallow. She stood up, gripping his arm and something in her expression softened. "I'm sorry."

He held her hand, helping her stand and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry too."

* * *

He didn't fail. They were just not the right words.

"You're the most beautiful woman in most rooms."

As soon as he said this, Monica's hands were around his neck and her mouth over his and it was the most intense moment of his life, just the way he always imagined it might be.

The kiss was soft and firm at once, her lips tasting a little like scotch. She kissed him with such conviction, like this was exactly what she needed and what she wanted.

He stopped her and tried to give her an out. Because she was drunk, and he was a little tipsy. Because she was Monica Geller, pretty much the blueprint for his  _perfect_ , and perfect couldn't possibly want Chandler Bing, but once they addressed the risks for their friendship―very quickly and dismissively―he knew.

He knew he could never get enough of her, like a worshipper at the altar of his god. Now she was deeply sleeping beside him and he couldn't close his eyes. Soon enough, they would be back to reality: London, Ross's wedding, friends and jet lag. A reality he was more than happy to erase from his memory if it meant remembering just this one night.

He couldn't stop looking at her― in the dark or drunk, he felt like he was seeing clearly for the first time. Once the sun would rise, he'd try and remember every little bit of it, the frantic and the wild, the legs wrapped around him, the breathlessly hushed words of lust, somehow both filthy and reverent at the same time, the sweet kisses and the hungry bites on the shoulder.

In a rush, he tried to think about the consequences. Sex changed things, always. Nothing scared him more than the idea of losing their friendship, of losing her.

He looked at her again and slowly pushed away a strand of hair from her face.

She was the same Monica he always knew, but he wasn't the same Chandler. He was never going to be the same.


	17. Part Time Lover, Full Time Friend

Chandler hated when people watched him sleep. Monica knew that. It made him feel self-conscious and it creeped him out, she knew that too.

But she had always liked watching him sleep, because he was a cute sleeper. His features would be much softer, smiling eyes, deep asleep in a meditation-like state. No wall, no mask, no distance―she liked that side of him despite everybody else feeling unsettled whenever Chandler wasn't being Chandler. She liked the vulnerability, the sweetness, the genuine look of content on his face.

Chandler hated people watching him sleep but she couldn't help herself anymore. Because London happened. Something was happening to her, to them.

Something was happening that turned what seemed like the worst idea ever when they had woken up in his hotel room in London into a miraculous revelation now that they were in New York, in her bedroom, just a couple of hours after they had landed.

She focused her attention on him again. His mouth was half open and he let out a soft snore. Monica stifled a laugh, he didn't need to know that she would gladly wake up before the alarm to watch him sleep.

She shook her head.

It was Chandler! She never thought it would be  _him_ who would bring her back to passion, to life, revive feelings she thought were long lost―the butterflies, the stomach flips, the happy anxiousness and the all-consuming lust. It was all him, the same goofy guy from across the hall who couldn't be serious for 5 full minutes if his life depended on it.

Yet, he was the same Chandler who had been on top of her, with the most serious look on his face as if it was his life's mission, bringing her to that sublime blur of pleasure; Chandler with the perfectly angled shoulders, Chandler and his jaw and the way his mouth was demanding and soft and open letting out quiet, deep grunts of pleasure and need that were still echoing through her brain.

Chandler, her best friend, with whom she had drunk sex. Amazing drunk sex in London, and just plain amazing sex in New York.

Chandler, who made her scratch his back furiously with her nails, bite his shoulder and cry the sharpest screams the second time, and the fourth, the sixth and the seventh ...

Seven!

Seven times in one night with Chandler.

She sat up against the headboard and closed her eyes, her world was turning upside down and her head was a mess.

Seven times, and a couple more times after that, with her best friend, couldn't be casual sex. And she didn't do casual sex, not anymore, neither did Chandler. In those touches and whispered words and the frantic dance of their bodies, it wasn't casual in the slightest. It was supremely intimate, each time she gave away a nonrefundable piece of herself to him. He couldn't  _just_  be a friend, he was now a friend and a lover, or a lover and a friend. She wasn't sure yet that combination could win the day but it definitely conquered her nights.

Monica tilted her head and stared down at his ruffled hair, resisting the urge to pass her hand through it, refraining from snuggling up next to him like boyfriends and girlfriends did.

All she needed was to set boundaries, she told herself. Starting by keeping her hands away from that summer-kissed, brown and messy, looking-so-painfully-soft hair.

She slid down under the blanket, facing him and tucking her hands under her head, taking in his features up close. She always found him cute, that was undeniable but she was seeing him under a whole new light. His post-sex hair wasn't just cute, it was sexy and hot.

She always liked watching him sleep but she knew it creeped him out. In fact, that one time he caught her, he woke up screaming.

Like so many things since London, it was an uncontrollable need and she succumbed, her hand went through his hair, smoothing it softly through her fingers, and his eyes fluttered open.

She froze.

He didn't scream this time, he just smiled. A happy, content smile.

"Hey," he said in his sleepy, raspy voice, and that one simple word broke something inside her open, exposing her whole. It seemed hard to find enough air and form words to respond.

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"Too soon to wake up."

"Were you watching me sleep like a creep?"

She blushed furiously, racking her brain for an excuse and coming up short. "I―"

"I like it."

"You do? I thought you hated that."

"Not when you do it, not after earth-shattering sex. It feels good."

She didn't wait for him and kissed his lips, pulling the bottom one into her mouth. "It feels better than anything."

At that, Chandler turned her over, she was now beneath him and he was smiling down at her, touching her like he was memorizing her shape, with fingertips and thumbs tracing her shoulders, her arms, sliding down to her hips and her thighs and back up to her shoulders, her neck and into her hair.

It was different in New York. There was awareness, from sobriety, from the familiarity of his body, every movement intentional and every touch conscious. It was deeper than infatuation or a flash of desire or desperation. It was something else, something she couldn't quite bring herself to name yet.

"Could we stay in bed all day?" he said while leaving a trail of kisses over her neck and shoulders.

"What about Joey and Phoebe? They'll be there in a few hours."

"Hmm, what if you tell Phoebe you're sick so she has to stay far, far away from you, you know,  _for the babies_ and I tell Joey some hot girl is looking for him."

"That's so cunning and wicked," Monica said. "I love it."

* * *

Monica was never this excited before to make breakfast in the morning for the man in her bed, which was ridiculous, she admonished herself. She had made Chandler breakfast a million times before.

She carried the plate with coffee and cookies and orange juice to her bedroom, opening it with her foot. Chandler was propped up against the headboard, gloriously naked. She almost dropped the plate as she felt her chest and neck flush at the sight of him.

She put down the plate on the bedside table and rolled her eyes at the smug expression on his face while he stood up and put on his boxer briefs with small jalapeño peppers print over them, showing off with a little stripper dance and singing the chorus from Donna Summer's  _Hot Stuff_ , making her laugh before he sat down and reached for the plate and put it on the bed between them.

"I thought you had a strict 'no crummies on the bed' policy," he said, taking a careful bite of one cookie and sipping his cup of coffee.

"I'm making an exception. Don't get used to it."

"Man, I must have been pretty good last night," he said with a smirk.

She had to bite her tongue to avoid responding and tell him sex had never been this good before, reaching a whole new level of greatness. One she feared she was already becoming dangerously addicted to.

Just as she was ruminating words in her head on how to bring up the unavoidable subject― _are things going to be awkward now? This is confusing. Should we figure this out?_ ― Chandler opened the newspaper while chewing the cookie, turning pages with a carefree attitude, like they had been doing this for ages, and it was a terribly attractive trait on him she thought.

After another sip of coffee, he brought up the newspaper close to her face. "Hey, look at this.  _The Ninth Avenue Food Festival is coming back to New York next week. The annual food extravaganza turns the city's most famed food district, Hell's Kitchen, into gastronomic heave_ n," he read from the paper before putting it down to look at her. "We should go."

"Next week? We'll both be back at work."

"So? I'll sneak out from work at whatever time your break is, it's just a couple of blocks from your restaurant. It could be fun," he said, his blue eyes shining with eagerness.

She looked at him with wonder, silent for a few minutes. She didn't know what making 'next week' plans meant for whatever they were, except the obvious—this wasn't a one or two-time thing. It was the time to accept that friendship and sex and happiness had all come together in one glorious accident, where she could watch him sleep, have coffee in bed and make plans to sneak out of work.

There were moments that shifted the trajectory of life, and London had been one of them, and it felt to her like the biggest of them all. She remembered what Phoebe had said when they had discovered Ross's feelings for Rachel. Their lives weren't going to be the same ever again, and in their situation, there were a million questions they still needed to ask and answer.

But Chandler had pried her open and she trusted he would always be there like he had been for so long. She could never picture her life without him always in it and she was starting to picture a future with him at the center of it all, in whatever shape their relationship took.

"We'll go next week then," she said and he looked up with a smile. "But today, we stay in bed."


End file.
